


Be the Death of Me

by fyredancer



Series: Two Against the World [2]
Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, Sci-fi/fantasy, Twincest, nephilim twins, reaververse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2020, the demons descended. The cataclysmic event came to be called "The Rising," and the world that came after was called "Post-Apocalyptic," though for North America most ways of life were preserved when the Walls went up around the major cities.</p><p>One powerful demon, the Nephilim known as Jorg Kaulitz, had twin sons with a powerful human psychic to secure an heir for his House. Fearing the potential destruction that Nephilim twins could cause, he separated them as infants.</p><p>Now reunited, Tom and Bill are settling into a new life together behind the safety of New York City's Wall. Of course, they have their challenges, between juggling full schedules as their rock star rises, facing potential eviction, integrating mostly-Nephilim Tom with Bill's human friends...</p><p>Not to mention, now someone's targeting Bill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Born to Each Other, so you'll enjoy this more if you've read that first. Major thanks to Carolyn, my beta-reader at the start, and ma_chelle, my beta reader for the last three updates. The spectacular banner is ALLLL kuwamiko's doing, and I now ~owe her.~

[ ](http://s3.photobucket.com/albums/y67/Fyredancer0/Twin%20Picspam/?action=view&current=BtDoMbanner.jpg)

It was a typical morning at the Kaulitz twins' apartment.

Tom's twin Bill was not, by rule or inclination, a morning person. By design, he didn't have any classes on campus at Vanderbrant U until ten at the earliest, and he regarded the prospect of waking in the first morning light with a kind of horror reserved normally for going out without makeup, green vegetables, or Tom's baggy clothes. Bill did need to wake up in the mornings, though. He was no longer willing to skip classes now that the first frantic rush of needing to be together non-stop had passed. Therefore, Tom had devised his ways to ensure Bill got up early enough to satisfy both of them before he had to leave for campus.

"Mmm, Tomi," Bill purred with pleasure, curling up into a mostly-sitting position on the bed and wrapping his hands around the thick girth of his prize. "You're so good to me." He blinked up sleepily at his twin and his tongue emerged from his mouth to taste the first drops of life-sustaining nectar.

Tom grinned and rumpled his twin's hair as Bill sucked in his coffee with sinful enjoyment. "I know," he replied with no trace of modesty. "What did you do before I came along and found you?" He seated himself at the edge of Bill's side of their huge bed and stroked a hand over one duvet-covered thigh.

Bill brought his knees closer to his chest and hummed happily, scooting closer to Tom and dislodging the covers from his upper body, baring his naked chest. He kept a good grip on his coffee mug but slid one arm around Tom's waist, leaning against him. "Woke up enough to chase out my one-night stands," he said, sipping at his sweet, milky coffee with a satisfied noise. "Then it was a toss-up as to whether I'd stay up and get my own coffee or crash until the alarm woke me. This is so much better!"

"I should hope so," Tom murmured, leaning against Bill in return and rubbing a hand over the smooth skin of Bill's naked back. He plucked the empty mug from Bill's hand once his brother had knocked back the dregs, and set it on the nightstand. "I do have ulterior motives, though."

Bill gave him wide eyes as though he couldn't possibly understand what Tom was after as Tom slowly trailed his fingers up Bill's shoulder, the side of his face, and tucked a stray tuft of black-dyed hair over Bill's ear. He looked sleepy and somewhat mussed and sweetly innocent.

Tom knew better than anyone what an utter facade it was, but he enjoyed the thought of Bill's innocence and Bill knew perfectly well how he liked it. Tom leaned in to lick the corner of Bill's mouth and taste the coffee there. He didn't take his coffee with cream and sugar but it was palatable second-hand from Bill's lips.

Bill let Tom kiss him, pliant and unresisting as Tom pressed their lips together, teasing Bill's apart with only the pressure of his own. His breathing roughened and his hand tightened on Tom's waist. They kissed, only that, for long moments as Tom coaxed Bill to open to his tongue and dipped in to claim the coffee flavor for himself.

When Tom wound an arm around his brother, pushing the duvet down toward Bill's lap and tapping his mouth more greedily, Bill squeaked and pulled out of the clinch hastily. He grabbed the duvet in both hands and hauled it up to his chest.

Bill's eyes were big and solemn as he questioned, "Tomi, are you going to despoil me?"

Tom pretended to consider it for all of a second before he began to nod. "Yes... yes, I'm pretty sure I scheduled in a ravishment before your first morning class. To keep you from going back to sleep, you know."

Bill broke out into a sunny grin that made Tom's mouth tug upward in an automatic response. "Yay, a morning quickie!" he cheered, as though it were a rare occurrence and not the status quo, but Bill's enthusiasm was one of so many reasons Tom loved him.

Coffee and sex. It was Tom's foolproof formula to wake his morning-resistant twin.

The coffee woke Bill just enough to get him interested in kissing, and the kissing always led to more satisfying activities. The fact that he was already in bed surrounded by their sex-drenched sheets certainly didn't hurt in piquing his interest.

Tom tipped Bill over onto his back and climbed atop him, pleased when Bill hooked his arms around Tom's neck and opened his mouth in eager anticipation. A protestation of innocence was fun, but having his twin wanton and ready beneath him was really the best.

"Gonna mount you," Tom spoke directly into Bill's mouth before laying a heavy kiss on him. He peeled the duvet down and thumbed at Bill's nipples, which were already perking with anticipation. He kissed down Bill's neck, muttering, "Gonna slick up, not much, just a little, and put it right in."

Bill squirmed underneath him. "No," he moaned, shaking his head and tickling Tom's cheek with his hair. "No, don't wanna." He struggled under Tom and the duvet, squealing in an undignified but very arousing manner when Tom began to peel down the duvet to reveal Bill's lean, naked length.

"What do you want?" Tom asked, curious, dabbling his tongue in the hollow of Bill's throat then fastening his mouth there to suck briefly.

"Unh..." Bill shifted under him; not out of discomfort but to rub his duvet-shrouded hips up against Tom. His hands skittered over Tom's bare shoulders. "Wanna... wanna..." He bit his lip and writhed under Tom again, rolling his hips up.

They both moaned. With an impatient snarl Tom ripped the duvet away, baring Bill completely.

"Off, get those off," Bill demanded, bending his leg up and hooking one limber toe into the waistband of Tom's boxers. He played his hands through Tom's dreadlocks.

Tom pushed himself up onto his forearms above Bill, taking a moment to admire the vision of his twin spread flushed and panting beneath him. He leaned over Bill with one hand, beginning to strip his boxers off. He was every bit as eager for full body contact.

"What do you want, Bill?" Tom prompted again, nuzzling at the corner of his twin's mouth and holding himself above him, their bodies separated by mere centimeters.

Bill stared up at him open-mouthed, his cheeks faintly pink, his soft breaths stirring Tom's chin. His crimson pupils were dilated wide with desire, collapsing the rich brown of his irises to a thin ring. "I wanna ride you," he managed, then bit his lip again, twisting his head to the side a little to give Tom a coy look. "I wanna sit on it, Tomi, I want to make it last."

Tom sucked in a harsh breath and his dick tightened painfully hard. "Not a whole lot of ravishment in that position," he said, as though thinking it over. He eased his body down until they were aligned, almost touching. Once they touched, it was as good as over - they wouldn't stop until they came.

Bill smirked up at him. "What can I say? You won me over with your charms, you handsome despoiler."

Tom bent his head, worked Bill's mouth open, and contemplated doing it his way anyhow. Bill would scream and probably struggle and they'd have a hell of a good time. On the other hand, Tom really loved to watch Bill on top of him, fucking himself on Tom's cock and touching himself and throwing his head back to express noisy enjoyment. Tom was torn.

"Please, Tomi," Bill whispered against his mouth, intuiting his dilemma.

Tom shuddered and rolled to the side, lying in the middle of the rumpled bed. "All right, all right," he said, and he couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed by how thoroughly Bill _had_ him. "I'm raping you later, though."

Bill gave him a wide happy smile as he reached for the lube on the nightstand and coated two fingers. "I'm terrified," he said, voice husky. "You'd better be brutal."

Tom could only nod, thought deserting him as Bill swung a leg over him, straddling him.

"Sit up against the headboard," Bill ordered, pushing at Tom's legs. "What if I want to kiss you?"

Tom smirked at his twin even as he began to shift his position. "Do you normally kiss your ravishers?" he inquired.

Bill rolled his eyes and seated himself on Tom's belly. Tom's erection nudged up against Bill's crease and they both inhaled. "I told you," Bill said, biting his lip, eyes fluttering. "I've fallen for your charms." He worked behind himself with two wet fingers and Tom sucked his lip piercing into his mouth to stifle a groan.

"Coffee in bed?" Tom questioned. "You better not be that easy for just anyone."

Bill's eyes flashed as though he were angry but he reached behind himself again, grabbing Tom's cock and wiping the remnants of lube onto it, then taking hold and guiding the head until it was flush with Bill's hidden little pucker. Tom put his hands to Bill's hips though his brother was well-balanced astride him.

"Are you saying I'm easy, Tom?" he asked, sitting there with a small, maddening smile on his lips as the tip of Tom's dick rubbed along Bill's crease, resting right _there,_ where Tom wanted to be. "You think I'm a slut?"

"Only for my cock," Tom gritted. He squeezed at Bill's hips, thumbing at the black triple-star tattoo on his twin's hip in a small, insistent gesture. "Only for me." He was so close, he was _right there,_ his tip was pressing against the entrance to heaven but Bill was in control.

"Oh," Bill said, and brushed hair out of his eyes and gave Tom a secretive smile, all heavy-lidded eyes and pouting mouth. "Well, that's all right then." And he moved, holding Tom's cock in place and impaling himself.

A throttled shout left Tom's lips and his body slammed upward as he tightened his hold on Bill's hips.

Bill gasped and tensed, lifting himself mostly off Tom's cock as he lengthened his thighs. "Naughty," he chided, and held himself above Tom with only the head of his cock still inside him.

"Bill," Tom protested, drawing his brother's name out into more than one syllable, struggling not to whine. He drew his knees up until they pressed the soft skin of Bill's rear, urging him on.

Nodding, eyes glittering, Bill grabbed onto Tom's upraised knees and lowered himself with the dignified air of someone conferring a boon. He seated himself fully on Tom's cock and they both released sighs of satisfaction. "Be good, though," Bill gasped, and began to rock slowly.

By this Bill meant for Tom to stay motionless, or as much as Tom could manage with his beautiful twin brother atop him moving deliciously, cruelly slow.

Tom regarded his lover, his Bill, through hooded eyes and stroked Bill's hips to encourage him on. He'd be quiescent for now.

Mouth open, lips vibrating faintly as though he were singing to himself at a frequency even Tom couldn't hear, Bill leaned forward and ran his white-tipped black nails down Tom's chest then sat back, sinking himself onto Tom's cock again. Bill's mouth formed an 'o' and he began to pant as he repeated the movement, again and again and again, locking eyes with Tom.

Tom tongued at his piercing and stared up into Bill's eyes, unable to look away. Bill moved above him in short but glorious bursts, his black hair fanned out around his head in a dark halo, sweat dampening his hairline. He no longer looked remotely sleepy; his face glowed with arousal and perspiration, his brown eyes were intent, and pleased, excited noises had begun to tumble from his lips even as he bit at them periodically to try to stifle himself.

Couldn't have that, Tom thought, stretching his head up for a kiss. Bill whimpered and rocked forward to meet him, sighing against his tongue.

Bill's thumbs massaged Tom's collarbones and they kissed deeply. "So good," Bill whispered against the corner of Tom's mouth, then nibbled at his piercing and they kissed again. All through it Bill kept moving insistently, pushing Tom's cock up into him, pulling out just enough then rolling himself down over it again.

Tom groaned appreciatively, "So tight."

Bill pulled away, one hand still stroking over Tom's throat as he began to rock faster. "I'm always tight for you," he said proudly, panting. "Ahh! Ah, Tomi, there, it's so good, it's the best!" He threw his head back and thrashed atop Tom, pressing himself down around Tom's cock with fantastic clenching heat. He was blissing himself out nailing his prostate on Tom's cock repeatedly with his quick, urgent little hip-rolls.

Excited noises began to tumble from Bill's lips; the ones he made when he was so, so close to the edge.

"Don't you dare come," Tom said indignantly, because it was good, it was amazing, but he wasn't close. Bill's strokes were perfect for his own pleasure but the back and forth wasn't quite enough friction to satisfy Tom.

"Not gonna," Bill mumbled, but it was reluctant, sulky even. He slitted his eyes and regarded Tom, lacing his hands together at Tom's nape below the heavy pile of his dreadlocked hair. He stretched forward for a kiss again, open-mouthed, and they shared breath and tongue and a hint of saliva until Bill pulled back, settling into his rhythm again.

Tom groaned and shifted his grip from the skin of Bill's stripped-down hips up to his waist. He was no longer content to lie passive beneath him. Tom flexed, pushing his cock up into Bill's tight, superlative little body as his brother rocked back down onto him.

They were both moving faster now, Bill swaying over Tom and rocking his hips in quick decisive rolls and Tom's fingers nipping Bill's waist as he pumped up into him. Bill bit his lip, eyes closed as he swayed, and Tom's eyes glinted with amusement – Tom himself was already biting his lip in much the same way.

"Ahh, mmn," Bill sighed, rocking back and forth with a look of ecstasy. He leaned forward, hands stretching out to either side of Tom's head to grip the reinforced headboard and began to snap his hips in fast, hard thrusts as he fucked himself on Tom's cock. "Ahh, yes! Tomi, so good."

"Bill," Tom sighed in return, his hands stroking over Bill's waist.

Bill hitched forward into a faster rhythm, the delicious little moans and sounds beginning to tumble from his mouth the way Bill got when he was lost to his arousal. "Mm...ah...don't stop," he moaned, tossing his head, slowing to impale himself thoroughly. "Wanna do this forever."

Tom reflexively tried to glance for the clock, but he couldn't see it from his angle on their bed. "I'd love nothing better, Bill, but how much time before your first class again?" He stroked his hands from Bill's waist to his hips and back again, grunting as Bill pulsed around his cock in purposeful clenching waves.

"Mmm...fuck," Bill expostulated, letting up on Tom's cock and rocking faster again. "We've got enough time if no one else tries to kill me on my walk to campus this week."

Tom stared up at his twin's flushed, ecstatic face, his sweaty hair framing his forehead and temples. "What!?" A shock had spiked through him at Bill's absent-minded words, and it was not the good type, not the wonderful sex kind.

Bill opened his amber-brown eyes to look directly into Tom's eyes. "Hmm?" he hummed happily, trying to rock faster even as Tom seized his hips, stilling his own motions. "Oh, I've walked into campus three times this week and three mixed-bloods have tried to kill me." He gasped as Tom surged up, breaking Bill's grip on the headboard and tumbling him onto his back.

Tom growled, "You've what? Why didn't you tell me!?" He screwed into Bill from the new angle with deep, plowing strokes. He hooked Bill's legs up over his shoulders, one by one, and quickened the pace to fast and hard.

Bill tossed his head back and forth for a moment, face twisted up into a look of rapturous concentration. He cried out as Tom gave him rough, fast strokes. Bill threw his arms around Tom, lacing his fingers behind Tom's nape. "Oh, yes, right there," he crooned urgently. "Right there, Tomi, more. Don't stop!"

"Not gonna," Tom groaned, because it was true; he wouldn't be able to stop fucking Bill for anything. Not even the news that someone was trying to take his twin's life. "Not gonna stop, you're so hot, Bill. Nng...now why didn't you... say something before?"

"Uhn...ah!" Bill pushed up frantically against him, clamping down hard on Tom's cock. "Mmm... I love it when you get all over-protective, but you know I can take care of myself. I took them all out, didn't I? Shut up and...keep...ah!...keep doing that!"

"It's the principle of the thing," Tom gritted, dropping his hips in the short, hard thrusts that made Bill scream under him and throw his head back. "No one...tries...to kill my...twin."

"Tomi...oh, Tomi!" Bill cried, writhing faster beneath him, desperately trying to urge Tom on. He loved to set the pace when he was riding Tom and got frustrated when he hadn't gotten his fill of it if Tom flipped him over before he was ready. Bill ground up against him, panting, "Kiss me."

Tom shook his head, bracing himself close over Bill and driving into him. His loose dreadlocks formed a curtain over both of them. "Come on," he ordered Bill, fucking into his twin with slow, deep, insistent thrusts, angling for Bill's prostate and hitting it better than half the time if Bill's joyous wails were any indication.

Tom crowded in close to his twin, riding Bill's ass up over his own thighs, and kept thrusting. He was so close, he could sense it as his balls tightened and he leaned over Bill, admiring the banquet of arousal-pinked face and lean writhing body spread beneath him.

"Come in me, in me," Bill entreated. He stiffened, reaching for his cock and fisting it desperately in one hand. "Ohh, oh! Tomi!" With a few jerks he was there, tumbling over the edge and jetting pearly semen between them, coming against Tom's chest and stomach.

Tom cried out as Bill's muscles squeezed down on his cock with incredible, exquisite tightness. He quickened his pace now that Bill had orgasmed, pursuing his own climax with single-minded intensity. Bill moaned beneath him as Tom wallowed against him.

"Come, come on," Bill coaxed, reaching out for him and running his hands down Tom's chest, smearing his hands in his own come. He pressed a hand to Tom's face.

Tom turned into the caress, nuzzling at Bill's come-coated fingers. Bill popped them into Tom's mouth, still emitting anxious little noises of excitement, bouncing with enthusiasm against him as Tom kept plowing into him.

Sucking at Bill's fingers did it. With his brother's release spreading over his tongue, Tom bit down and snapped his hips forward, holding Bill in place with both hands as he came deep inside of him. Tom kept moving as his come spilled from him in waves. His eyes fluttered and he pulled out, grabbing his cock with one hand and rubbing it around Bill's reddened, well-fucked hole as the last droplets spurted from the head.

Bill's happy, luxuriant sigh brought Tom out of his post-orgasmic daze. "Kiss me?" he requested.

Tom swiped his spent cock around Bill's prettily reddened hole one more time, swirling the come around as though autographing his work. "'s it good?" he slurred, tipping himself onto his side next to Bill and nudging their noses together.

"So good," Bill assured him, running a proprietary hand down Tom's side, grasping briefly at Tom's spent cock, then bringing his hand back up to his face and inhaling scent, licking at clinging drops of come.

Tom leaned in and pushed their faces together, bumping briefly over Bill's nose before lapping his mouth open. Bill giggled and gave him an opening that Tom slipped his tongue into. They kissed for several minutes, basking in the afterglow, lazily stroking one another.

Bill broke it first, biting down on Tom's lip then releasing it, hitching himself up enough to look at the clock. "Damn it to the hells," he said with a low groan, then patted Tom's thigh, climbed over him, and tumbled out of bed to land on his feet in a catlike move. "Gotta get ready for class."

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and rolled onto his back, allowing himself to laze in his post-fuck euphoria.

His eyes popped open as he remembered Bill's disclosure. _...if no one else tries to kill me..._

"Whoresons," Tom growled. How could he lounge around in bed after that? He got up and followed his twin into the bathroom. The door was open as usual; neither of them had any particular sense of body modesty, especially not with each other. 

The patter of water against the porcelain tub greeted Tom in the bathroom, the sound of the steady, hard spray of the shower head at full blast, as Tom walked through the door scratching idly at himself with one hand. The room was filling up with steam and the shower curtain was pulled shut.

Despite the urgent need to _see_ Bill that rose up in Tom at the notion of danger to his twin, Tom had to take a moment to relieve himself.

"You'd better not flush that," Bill called, threatening, from the shower as Tom finished up.

Tom smirked and considered flushing anyhow, to be contrary. It wasn't as though extremes of scalding heat or icy chill would do anything but annoy Bill. Sometimes that was fun, and the results could be explosive but ultimately satisfying for both of them, yet Tom wasn't in a sparring kind of mood this morning.

At least, he didn't want to exercise his combative urges on his twin.

"Sissy," Tom said, peeling the curtain back from the place where dampness had adhered it to the wall.

Bill stood naked in the shower with his back to Tom. His hands were buried in his black hair, working conditioner through the length of it. Water streamed down the contours of his back, his lean hips, and trickled a slow crystalline path over the slight swells of his tight ass.

Tom climbed into the shower, drawing the curtain shut behind him, and he was reaching for his brother with both hands when Bill said over his shoulder, "Wash my back, Tomi?" in a voice both alluring and decisive.

Grumbling, Tom reached for Bill's preferred shower cleanser. It was unfair that there was this much naked Bill spread out like a feast before him and he could _touch_ him, but not pursue that to the logical conclusion.

"You just _had_ me," Bill reminded him, as though reading his thoughts. They were attuned enough to one another that the way they communicated essentially amounted to the same thing.

Tom dropped his chin to Bill's shoulder and slid the flat of one hand to Bill's stomach. "That's not the point," he said.

"Oh?" Bill prompted, sweeping his conditioner-laden hair to the other side of his head and tipping his face to the side, nudging Tom's nose with his lips. "What is the point, then?"

Tom smirked and aligned their bodies together, his front to Bill's back. His returning interest was pretty unmistakable. "The point is that I could have you again."

"Ha ha, very funny," Bill said sourly, but he ground back against Tom with a little noise as though he couldn't help himself. "Ahh... seriously, you have to wash my back, I need to get to campus on time."

"And I'm walking you to campus this morning," Tom told him, kissing the cords in the side of Bill's neck and trailing down his shoulder.

Bill shuddered and stomach muscles skittered under Tom's hand. "Then we really have to get going," he insisted, his voice strained. "Wash my back. Please, Tomi?"

Tom opened his mouth to reply.

" _Not_ with your come," Bill said, sounding irritated even though Tom hadn't said it.

He'd thought it, though.

"Bill," Tom wheedled, his voice verging perilously close to a whine. "We could be doing it again right now."

"Later," Bill insisted.

And so Tom ended up washing his twin's back. By the time he was done, Bill had rinsed his conditioner out and he was too slippery-wet for Tom to keep a grip on him when he reached. Bill writhed out of his grip like an eel and left the shower, flashing a last, unfairly sexy smile over his shoulder. "Damn it," Tom groused, and reached for his own shower gel instead.

"Hurry up," Bill's voice floated through the curtain to him. "We have to leave in half an hour."

Tom snorted quietly.

"I heard that!"

Despite Tom's verbal expression of cynicism, Bill could get ready according to schedule when he had to. He was even dressed completely before Tom finished showering and putting his own clothes on. Checking the chronometer on his wrist, Tom leaned against the door frame watching Bill put the finishing touches to his daily-wear makeup.

"Tell me more," he said, knowing that his twin would follow the conversational thread Tom had pulled from thin air.

Bill shrugged, staring himself in the eye as he applied shadow beneath the liner on one lower lid. "Not much to tell. They weren't very good."

Tom scowled at his twin's reflection and folded his arms, tucking his hands beneath his armpits.

"Seriously, I don't think they had much Nephilim blood at all," Bill continued, moving from one eye to the other with a steady hand. "They came at me, I killed them. End of story."

Tom blinked. "Were they bounties? Did you turn them in?"

"Please," Bill scoffed. "While I was on my way to class? It would have taken way too long to check and see if they were on Orion's list, and then call for a pick-up, et cetera..."

"Jesus, Bill, then did you at least take care of the bodies; did you clean up after yourself?"

"No," Bill snapped. "I left the City Defense Corps to take care of it, of course. You think I'm going to get my hands dirty disposing of corpses?"

Tom's mouth worked for a moment. "Bill! Are you serious? I thought you _wanted_ to stay in New York – they could eject you from the city for this! I'm surprised the humans' police force haven't shown up yet--"

"Relax," Bill said brightly, snapping his makeup case closed and turning from the mirror with a smug sort of look. "First off, I scrubbed the scene of my psychic trace. Second, I manipulated the imprint so it looked as though the dead man did the scrub. It'll leave them quite the puzzle – the victim couldn't possibly have done the scrub himself, but _my_ psychic trace won't be on the scene, and that's what matters."

Tom stared at his staggeringly beautiful, amazingly devious younger twin. "I didn't think you could even do that," he said, impressed. "How did you figure that out?"

Bill shrugged. "It's a variation on something Mom showed me. You have to be quick about it." He grinned widely at Tom, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little. "I've got a deft touch."

"You sure do," Tom murmured, reeling Bill close with a grip on his ridiculously large belt buckle.

"Mmm," Bill mumbled his response, allowing Tom a brief nibble at his lip gloss.

When the knock came at the door, it took Tom by surprise and he pulled his mouth from Bill's with a groan, licking at the berry-flavored gloss that had gotten smeared over his own mouth. "Thought Andreas wasn't picking you up today," he said.

Bill was frowning. "He's not," he replied. "Get that, would you? I have to grab my stuff."

Tom nodded, releasing Bill with hands that were reluctant to obey. He snatched up a hoodie on the way to the front of the apartment to drape over his t-shirt and shrugged into it as he answered the front door.

"Hello?" an older man said gruffly, and peered up at Tom.

"Good morning," Tom said, all politeness and the hint of a smile as he greeted their landlord.

Bill's loft apartment was technically a single. At least, he was paying the single rate. Simone had brought that up with the two of them when Tom had first stated his intention of moving in with Bill, and Bill had dismissed that fact as he did all inconvenient rules or social mores that went against what he wanted to do. The landlord, Mr. Cooper, had shown up the week after Tom had moved in and, if Tom was any judge of human expressions, the man had come to bring up the subject of charging double occupancy.

He had gone away with a simple admonishment to "keep it down" for the neighbors' sake.

That had been Tom's first encounter with Mr. Cooper. Now the man mostly kept his head down when he saw Tom – according to Bill, Tom's face upon hearing that the neighbors had submitted complaints had been 'moderately frightening' which, for humans, was probably up high on the terror scale. Mr. Cooper never had gotten around to asking for more rent, which was a good thing as Bill would probably have laughed in his face, and Tom would have said no because he'd only just finished paying off the hefty hotel bill he'd incurred for damages above the deposit. He and Bill had thoroughly wrecked the room they had been in for their first week of togetherness.

The concept of consideration for the neighbors was alien to Tom. Upon hearing that the people living around the Kaulitz apartment had made complaints to the landlord, Tom had been tempted to go around and have it out with all of them – the ones in adjoining units, across the hall, downstairs; whomever. Tom was all about tackling a problem directly. Bill had stopped him, and it had been time for another Humanity 101 lesson.

"Oh, good morning, Tom," Mr. Cooper said, his face pinching in a look Tom knew well.

There were some expressions that Nephilim and humans had in common, after all, and fear was one of them.

The man had probably been hoping that Bill would answer the door, Tom mused. There was something about his twin that put humans more at ease most of the time; an air of the disarming, or perhaps Bill simply hid his underlying nature better, given his years of practice. Tom raised his eyebrows in an inquiring manner and stuck his hands into the tops of his jean pockets.

Mr. Cooper's mouth worked for a moment and Tom waited patiently. He didn't have the ability with chitchat the way Bill could sling it about.

"What is THAT!?" the older man got out at last, raising a hand to point beyond Tom into the apartment.

Tom glanced over his shoulder and smirked a bit in fond reminiscence. The plaster of the wall across from the door had been battered through, exposing iron beams and dusty, cobwebby inner wall space within. A large chunk of wall had crumbled to the floor and two of the support beams were dented. "Oh, that? I fucked Bill into the wall the other night when we were in a rush and couldn't really make it much further than the door." He was about to add, 'you know how it is,' and stopped, because it was entirely possible Cooper did _not_ know how it was.

Mr. Cooper's eyes bulged and he started to say something, stopped, started another word that he clipped off in the middle, then he put both hands over his face and groaned. "It looks like someone went at it with a sledgehammer."

" _I_ went at Bill like a--" Tom began proudly, undeterred by the man's strangling noises, and would have completed the sentence if not interrupted by a sharp " _Tomi._ "

Bill appeared beside him in the doorway, school bag over one shoulder, handbag dangling from the opposite hand, and repeated in a lower, no less chiding tone, "Tomi." It was interesting how many expressive variations Bill could pack into two syllables. Right now, Bill was telling Tom very lovingly to shut up.

"Mr. Cooper, what brings you here today?" Bill asked crisply.

The older man focused on Bill with the desperate eagerness of a person who'd been thrown a lifeline. "Look, Trumper--"

"Kaulitz," Bill corrected at once.

"Right," Mr. Cooper said, tugging at his collar with one finger, avoiding both their eyes now. "I forgot. Still says Trumper on the lease. Look, this isn't the first time I've been here so it shouldn't be a surprise, but..." He trailed off, looking furtively at the space in between them in such a way that Tom knew he was looking at the damage to the opposite wall again.

Bill folded his arms, saying nothing, and Tom gave a sidelong smirk to his twin. Bill knew humans, and he was well-versed in the conversational niceties that made a situation easier. Right now, Bill was employing none of those techniques and leaving Cooper to flounder through this himself.

"Complaints," Mr. Cooper said at last, drawing the word out of thin air. "Uh, so, there are still complaints. From the neighbors. So if you could, er, that is, if the two of you would...tone it down, or..."

Bill arched one dark brow. "Complaints of what nature?"

"Uh," Mr. Cooper said, and his words stalled out.

"Really," Bill continued sweetly, "how are we supposed to tone it down if we don't know what it is we're accused of?"

Mr. Cooper swallowed and looked between them at the wall again, then his eyes darted from Bill's face, to Tom's, to the floor again, finding sympathy nowhere. "Well. Noise, mostly."

Bill waved a hand. "The soundproofing in this building isn't the greatest. If the people next door--"

"Next door?" Mr. Cooper interjected, eyes widening. "Kaulitz, I've gotten complaints from people on the second and ground floors about the unholy banging noises coming from your apartment. Also, reports that someone must be in the process of getting murdered, the screams are so loud."

Bill regarded their landlord blankly for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed without restraint. Tom admired the clean line of his brother's neck and throat as he did so.

"The ground floor?" Bill questioned, dabbing a finger at the corner of one eye. "Really. I'm not sure if that's a tribute to your skill or my vocals, Tomi."

"I enjoy making you scream," Tom replied, with a perfectly straight face.

Mr. Cooper shuddered and that drew Tom's attention back to him. The man stood there with his head ducked as though he were prey that hadn't figured out he was supposed to be running. "You have to think of the neighbors--" he began.

"I'm definitely not thinking of the neighbors when I'm with Bill," Tom informed him, grunting and exclaiming "What?" when Bill elbowed him.

"We'll be more considerate," Bill promised, as he had before. "Was there anything else? I have to get to campus in time for my first class."

Mr. Cooper looked beyond them at the battered wall again. "N-No, nothing," he said. He began to shuffle backwards.

At last, the man was giving into the wiser instincts of his hindbrain that had probably been urging him all along to carry him out of danger. _"Are we really so scary?"_ Bill had asked Andreas before, rhetorically. Tom assumed it was rhetorical, because it didn't take that much for either of the twins to provoke fear in full- or even part-blooded humans. It wasn't so much their appearance as it was their aura, as their mother Simone would say.

"Bye for now," Bill called after their landlord, who vanished up the hallway with a grunt and a wave over his shoulder.

Tom snickered and raised his hands defensively as Bill turned on him, hitting him with his expensive handbag.

“Tomi!” Bill complained. “You're not supposed to TELL him that we broke through the plaster while you were fucking me against the wall!”

"You heard that part, huh?" Tom shrugged, unconcerned. “He asked, I answered. It's his own fault he didn't like the answer.”

Bill groaned and dragged him over the threshold, snagging the door with his foot as he went through to encourage it to shut in the wake of their passage. "He is going to kick us out of here if we don't get our own place soon, I can tell."

"What? Why?"

Bill rolled his eyes as they entered the stairwell. During the time that Tom had been cohabitant with his twin, the elevator had been broken for the entire time. So far as Tom could tell, Mr. Cooper's sole function as landlord was to collect transfers of rent to his business account and come to their doorstep to relay complaints from the neighbors regarding the volume and frequency of Tom and Bill's sex life.

"This has happened to me before, you know," Bill related, slipping his arm into Tom's as they went down the stairs. It wasn't as though Bill needed the support of Tom's arm, but the two of them preferred to be touching more often than not, even if skin wasn't involved.

They couldn't make up for a lifetime apart in a few months, but they were sure as hell doing their best to _try._

"What's happened before?" Tom asked.

"I got kicked out of the dorm for excessive property damage," Bill said with a shrug. "Well, and noise. But mostly property damage. Broken beds, that sort of thing."

"Damned right, mostly property damage," Tom growled.

"Relax, Tomi; no one makes me scream like you do."

Their apartment was several blocks over from a bus stop, where the bus line picked up and ran by Bill's campus. Tom's twin had decided to go for higher education, and while he spent his days in class Tom had taken up hunting bounties listed with mega-corporation Orion.

Everyone in the human world did business with, or benefited from, Orion Corporation sooner or later. Tom had made his living during the first year of his search for Bill through stealing, mostly - he'd been careful not to kill because that would have put him on Orion's bounty list. Orion had their hand in everything from weapons development to magical and technical R&D to demonology, and had even taken up tactical functions to work in the cities' defense against the demons. It had been someone from Orion, Tom knew, that had developed the techno-magical fusion device that formed the nearly impenetrable Walls that surrounded and protected all of the remaining human cities.

So it had been Orion Corporation that Tom had approached to establish his legitimacy in the human world once he and Bill decided they were staying. Orion knew about the Nephilim - they had a fair number of mixed-blooded people on their payroll. Orion and local governments kept the knowledge of the highest order of demons from the general populace because the thought of demons that were human in appearance was too much for the average human to handle. That, and there were Nephilim and mixed-bloods that fought for the humans, but making the distinction between those for and against humanity would be complicated at best.

Tom's price for establishing himself as a resident in the human world had been whatever information on House Kaulitz he'd been willing to divulge, as well as submitting to one of Orion's psychic probes to prove he intended no harm to the humans he'd come to live amongst. He'd been mostly evasive on the first condition, because he did intend to go back someday to take over the House. As for the probe, it was easy.

All he wanted from the human world was Bill. He had nothing against humans.

However, the thought that New York was currently unoccupied Nephilim territory had occurred to Tom more than once. It had remained unclaimed since the death of Granac Bowen and all his people five years ago. It was a tempting thought... but Tom put it off.

Bill was his priority right now, and they were still adjusting to their new life together.

As if responding to that thought, Bill's hand squeezed on his, calling Tom's conscious attention back to his brother.

"What have you got today?" Bill inquired, familiar with Tom's habit of browsing Orion's bounty lists before serving Bill with his morning coffee.

Most of the bounties that Tom pursued weren't Nephilim, or the more common mixed-blood that made the bounty list for whatever they'd done to have the city or Orion deem them dangerous. There were two bounty lists – the hard targets and the soft targets. Hard targets could be brought in by whatever means necessary, including killing the target and bringing them in to collect the payday. Soft targets had to be brought in alive.

Tom wasn't much of a soft target kind of guy.

The hard target list had a lot of lesser demons on it. While the Wall and City Defense Corps took care of most of the lesser demons around the immediate perimeter of the Wall, there were plenty left over for the entrepreneurial demon hunters.

"There's a possible nest of Wyrdlings in a condo complex one city ring over," Tom replied. "It's not much, low pay even if I finish the job today, but it's close by – we've got that gig this afternoon."

"Gross," was all Bill said. "Make sure you change your clothes if they, you know, get near you at all."

Tom snorted. "Don't worry, I'll have enough time to stop at home before meeting you at the club." He'd learned his lesson quickly on the matter of showing up anywhere in public, let alone near Bill, if still covered in the results of a kill or messy hunt. Bill had very definite ideas on hygiene and public appearance, and what Tom had refused to swallow from Jorg was a rule more palatable from his twin.

He was still fighting Bill on the matter of style, though.

As though lurking in his head, Bill said, "You could wear this nice outfit I've picked out for you, it's not too much smaller than your usual double-x large, it goes really well with mine, and..."

"No, Bill," Tom said firmly. He had to establish a line _somewhere,_ or he'd be Bill's bitch. Clothing was one of the things he wouldn't compromise.

Bill aimed a pout in his direction that Tom did his best to ignore. "I just want us to look our best, Tomi."

"And we always do," Tom agreed with cheer.

"Not when you're always wearing those stupid baggy shirts," Bill complained, hanging on Tom's arm as they reached the bus stop.

Tom reached up one hand to adjust the bill of his cap as he glanced around the street. Their apartment wasn't in the best neighborhood of the ring, but it was cheap, as Bill had explained, and the trade-off for the low rent was the criminal element that inhabited the neighborhood. Tom himself had been ambushed in attempted muggings three times the first time he'd gone out to replenish their supply of coffee. It was amazing that the bus even made a stop in this neighborhood.

"So where did they hit you on the way to campus?" Tom asked.

"Before the bus stop, always before I got to the bus stop," Bill said, rolling his eyes. "So unimaginative. Well, better in this neighborhood than closer to campus, I suppose."

"No takers this morning, I guess," Tom said, referring to the people who had tried to kill his Bill.

Bill shrugged, twisting his free hand around one strap of his school bag. "I guess I scared them off."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "No one's got a contract out on you," he stated. "At least, it's not Orion."

Bill leaned against him, arching a brow. "Would I be a hard target or a soft target, Tomi?" he crooned, disengaging their hands and draping his arm over Tom's shoulder.

Tom smirked at his twin. "Are you kidding?"

"Kind of. So, three attempts in a row, but none today. I'm sure it's over and done with," Bill said, waving a hand, then splaying it out in front of himself to check his nails.

Tom poked at his lip ring, frowning. "Describe the men to me," he said.

Bill dredged up the details for him; from hair, eyes, and build to what each of them had been wearing.

"Huh," Tom said, because it didn't fit with the theory he'd been forming. "Sounds like hired thugs, not professional contract workers."

Bill leaned against him a little harder. "Like I'd know the difference."

"You should know the difference," Tom said, annoyed, as the bus pulled up to the stop beside them. 

"Don't start this again," Bill said, pushing himself off Tom and moving for the open door of the bus, casting an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "I'm in too good a mood."

"Fine," Tom snapped. "We'll talk about it later." _He_ wasn't going to drop it until they came to some kind of agreement.

It was one of the few things that they argued about – Tom wanted his twin to spend more time learning to fight, _really_ fight and not simply use his Nephilim-caliber strength. He wanted Bill to be well-versed in useful skills such as how to tell a cop from an Orion contract hunter, which of three potential places to get the best fake identification, and how to fight when the odds weren't in their favor. Bill was only interested in going to school, singing in their band, and getting laid with Tom.

Well. Not that Tom could really complain about that last. Or even the band, because he enjoyed playing the guitar and watching Bill shake his skinny ass on-stage.

Bill's general disinterest in applying himself to fighting or any kind of crime, organized or spontaneous, was how Tom knew they weren't anywhere near ready to make a move on the New York territory. Tom would need to start building up a serious power base, if that was his intention.

For now, Tom played his guitar, and honed his abilities on Orion's bounty list. Now someone was coming after Bill, and playtime was over.


	2. Chapter Two

"Kaulitz!" the professor called, and Bill's head turned.

One of the first things Bill had done once he and Tom had checked out of a certain hotel room and taken up the semblance of a normal life again had been to change his name in the official city register. It hadn't taken him much time to get used to his new last name - someone called it out, his head swung around as he thought of Tom, and with a happy glow he realized they were talking to him now. He supposed it was rather what getting married felt like.

"Yes, Professor Hurst?" Bill called back inquiringly.

The professor lifted his hand and wriggled his fingers, indicating that Bill should approach the front of the auditorium as the other students left. Bill sighed and pushed his notebook into his bag, going up with reluctance. Psychology was his last class of the day and he knew that Andreas would be waiting for him outside. Bill was anxious to leave, because the sooner he could lay hands on his twin again, the better.

That, and they had a gig tonight. They might have time for a quickie in the bathroom, they might not – Tom had promised to 'rape' him, after all – but either way, the sooner Bill got to the club, the better.

Bill came to a stop beside the professor's desk and bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet. The man was small, a couple of heads below Bill's height, and stooped over. The eyes he lifted up in his creased face were bright with intelligence. "Kaulitz," Professor Hurst said with a frown. "That paper you turned in for the most recent assignment..." He trailed off.

Bill resisted the urge to pull out his mobile and check the grade that had been assigned. "Yes? You gave it a top mark." He enjoyed college life, or he wouldn't still be in school. He was fairly sure he could make a successful living off the band alone. He had won a Gabriel Scholarship, though, and he discovered that he liked the campus atmosphere, as well as the continuing intellectual stimulation. Even when he disagreed with his professors' points of view.

"Yes, but I wanted to discuss it a bit more with you, without logging remarks in your grade record," Professor Hurst told him, still frowning. "Your perspective on the social and moral value of human life was rather... unique, shall I say?"

Bill offered him a wide smile instead of rolling his eyes. "Sociopathic, you mean," he supplied.

"Er. Well, I hadn't expected you to say so quite so bluntly," Hurst said, widening his eyes. "You did... now, you did write that paper yourself, didn't you?"

"Professor," Bill said, in tones that simulated both shock and indignation. He grinned a little when Hurst began to apologize right away. "It's all right, really. Which is more uncomfortable, the prospect of coming face to face with a sociopath, or hoping that your student cheated on an assignment so that you don't have to?"

Hurst's mouth thinned. "You're making fun. I didn't call _you_ a sociopath, young man. Unless you actually have killed someone, I'd say instead that it's your perspective--"

"Professor," Bill interrupted. "If I had, I assure you, it would only have been in defense of the city. In a manner of speaking. Now, since this has nothing to do with my grades and it's only curiosity on your part, I'll excuse myself." He arched one brow at the older man, who shook his head and sighed but seemed unsurprised. Bill gave him a nod and turned to go.

"Oh, and Kaulitz?"

Bill turned back again, humming an inquiring note.

"Been meaning to ask, why the name change mid-semester?" Professor Hurst asked as he gathered up his classroom paraphernalia from the wide, flat black surface of the auditorium desk. "Did you get married, or something?"

Bill flashed him a demure, close-lipped smile. "Or something," he agreed. He wasn't so much of a sociopath that he went around announcing the details of his personal life unprompted. He knew it was still a bit of a scandal to admit to being intimate with one's brother, let alone twin. Their world didn't openly persecute incest that didn't lead to procreation – and might not come down hard on the other kind; Bill had never looked into it – but it was one of those 'if you're doing it, don't talk about it' situations. Humans had so many sexual hang-ups, still.

He'd been ten the first time that someone had called him a sociopath. He'd looked up the definition on his mobile and puzzled over why his classmate had used it on him like an insult. Later, his mother Simone had explained that it had negative connotations; that for humans being a sociopath was a bad thing, and that it was another sign that his peers feared him, that they knew he was different.

Bill understood all this, yet even seven years later he still didn't really get why being a sociopath was a _bad_ thing. He grasped the definition, intellectually. He recognized that it meant people would fear him, be afraid of him if they knew. Yet he still didn't understand why, not in his gut. To Bill, all it meant was that he did as he liked, fit into normal society as most would expect, and he wasn't a threat to anyone unless he perceived they were a threat to him or otherwise in his way.

He _was_ a sociopath, this he knew; by the human definition, at least, and probably even as the Nephilim might define the term, seeing as how he enjoyed living in human society as he did. Still, recognizing that he didn't conform to or respect human societal standards, Bill had made it something of a goal to be the nicest, sexiest, most charming sociopath ever.

"Andi, hello! Thanks for waiting!" Bill exclaimed as he came within sight of his best friend.

"Of course," Andreas said, giving Bill a perfunctory wave in response.

Andreas was tall and handsome, with a large jaw and features that suited it, eyes that usually sparkled with good humor, and blond hair that had been bleached pale for as long as Bill could remember. He'd been friends with Bill since way before Bill had hit puberty, during that period where children of both genders avoided Bill as though on instinct. All except for Andreas, which was why Bill had "kept" him.

"Besides," Andreas added, "I want to check out this new club you're rocking tonight."

The morning after Bill had slept with Tom, it hadn't yet sunk in how the addition of the most vital relationship to his life – his twin and lover – would affect everything else. He'd been careless with the revelation to Andreas, possibly cruel in a way that could have cost their friendship if he hadn't been so determined to make up and Andreas so forgiving. Bill had talked with Andreas after that; long talks on his mobile as a sated Tom played with his hair or drew patterns over his skin, then when he and Tom were in a mindset less exclusive he'd taken Andreas out for lunch one on one.

The result was that Andreas, while still being a bit weirded out over the whole twin thing, understood and accepted. Acceptance was all that Bill needed from his friend.

Getting Tom and Andreas to get along had taken a bit more effort, but at least now Tom didn't go into possessive mode when the three of them hung out together.

"Yeah, it's about time you got laid again," Bill agreed with a laugh.

"Hey," Andreas said, making a face as though taking offense. "Just because I'm not completely sex-obsessed like you and Tom..."

"Mm, but I've totally got reason to be," Bill purred. "We _are_ still in the early phase of being mated, after all."

Andreas gulped, a rather queasy expression crossing his face at that. "Yeah, I...I still don't get that," he admitted, one hand fiddling with his school bag strap. "I mean, he's your brother. Not just your brother – your twin. How's that even possible?"

Bill sighed. They'd gone over this and over this, or so he'd thought. He still wasn't quite sure what was giving Andreas the most trouble – the thought that Bill had taken himself off the market, sexually speaking, or the fact that it was with his own twin. Bill could read body language enough to tell that Andreas was genuinely uncomfortable, but he couldn't intuit the reason behind it.

"We're Nephilim," he said patiently, for the umpteenth time. "Mating isn't a reproductive thing, when same-sex pairings are involved. It's about compatibility and suitability, for bonding together and building territory."

Andreas blinked and ran a hand through his hair. He still looked troubled. "So because you're twins, you're totally compatible?"

Bill laughed and shrugged. "Maybe. Could be. Maybe it's because of who Tom and I are. Or both. It's not like there are many other half-Nephilim twins around for me to ask." His face darkened. For all he knew, other twins were killed by the Nephilim when they were born. Lore in the Nephilim world painted twins as destructive forces, bringers of chaos. It was why Bill and Tom's father had taken Tom away, beyond the Walls of New York City and out into Nephilim territory, wherever the House Kaulitz was.

"Yeah, but... are you sure you're mated?" Andreas said, sounding kind of plaintive. "I mean... maybe it's a Nephilim thing to want your brother to, uh, you know, be that way with you. But you're not actually mated, maybe? I mean, how can you tell?"

"Andreas," Bill said in a dangerous tone, using his friend's full given name for the first time in an age. "You keep asking the same questions like something's going to change. You may not like it, but Tom and I are together. For good. You and I are still friends, okay? Like always."

"All right, all right," Andreas said, raising a hand. "I know, I keep bringing it up. I'm sorry, okay? I just... yeah, I'm still not used to it."

Bill nodded as though he understood. He recognized that it was something he should have struggled with more – settling into an incestuous relationship with Tom. Maybe if he really was human he'd have been disgusted, or torn up with guilt and shame. For certain, he would have been a great deal more angry with Tom for keeping their kinship from him until after they'd slept together. In the end, all that had mattered to him was the touch of Tom's skin against his, and how it made both of them feel.

"But you and Tom are getting along fine now," he stated. It wasn't a question; it didn't need to be. Tom wasn't draping himself in possessive poses over Bill when the three of them were together, and he hadn't threatened Andreas with bodily harm.

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Andreas said. "Of course. I think he's going to let me live." He said it teasingly.

Bill snickered. "You shouldn't joke about that; it might have been a close thing." He was pretty sure that Tom regarded Andreas as a friend, now, but Bill also knew that the Nephilim concept of 'friend' was tenuous at best.

Andreas gulped. "Let's get to the club, okay?"

That evening's gig was at an upscale club, very much a step up from the hotel lounges and dive bars that Bill's band had been playing before. Bill attributed a great deal of it to Tom; once Tom had joined their band to play guitar, it had really locked in their sound and added a certain energy to performances that had been missing. They had been doing well before Tom came along, well enough to catch notice and gain visibility on the live music scene, but now they were doing even better.

Andreas had to circle the block a few times in his junker in order to find a parking spot, even though Bill offered to pay for valet service. 

"No one's going to steal your car," Bill said with a roll of his eyes. "It certainly doesn't have any street value."

"It's my first car!" Andreas protested. "Its value to me is priceless."

"Worthless, you mean," Bill said under his breath, grabbing both school bag and hand bag from the back seat because he and Tom would be going straight home after the show. They had invested in a band van for their equipment, which meant Georg was required to drive them home.

"Whatever," Andreas said with a laugh, catching that. "You're just jealous that you and Tom don't have your own."

"We will, some day!" Bill insisted as they crossed the mostly deserted street.

For the first time since he'd begun to come around regularly to these parts, Bill found himself really looking at the neighborhood that the Sweetbox was in, and he realized that Tom probably wouldn't approve of him walking alone with Andreas in a place like this. The streets were shabby, the store-fronts were mostly deserted or boarded up, and the establishments that were open had bars over the windows and doors. The few shambling pedestrians that Bill could see had the vacant-eyed stares of the drugged or mentally dispossessed. He glanced up, checking windows and rooftops, then looked around surreptitiously for alley-ways out of which potential assailants could make an appearance. He was starting to think that Tom might have a point about raising Bill's awareness in combat matters by the time they reached the brightly-lit front of the club and the overhanging splendor of the multi-colored awning out front.

The bouncer unhooked the black velvet rope when he saw Bill coming. There wasn't a line yet, not this early in the afternoon, but the club had a strict policy on creating an aura of exclusivity.

Bill didn't have to worry about lines, though; even when he wasn't playing at the club, the doormen always let him go straight in.

Inside, the mirror ball overhead was already turning as though caught in the grip of an idle wind although the house lights hadn't been dimmed. Someone was obviously still testing out fixtures, as roving colored spotlights swept around the house, followed by a pinpoint cascade of spots shaped to mimic stars and comets.

Bill headed right for the VIP section, an elevated area of booths and tables fenced off with brushed-gold bars. He'd gotten a message from Georg that he and Gustav were running the equipment over and they'd be half an hour late, so they had a little time to kill and Bill knew where his brother would be, assuming he'd been on time. At the VIP section, another beefy but immaculately dressed bouncer-type unhooked the gate for him.

Bill liked the fact that he didn't have to present credentials; people seemed to take for granted the fact that Bill got the royal treatment, and he took it for his due.

As he'd suspected, Tom was already lounging in the furthest corner of the VIP section, a club barfly attached to one side despite the early hour, and one of the waitresses in her pressed black and white uniform snuggling up to Tom's other side. Bill grinned when he saw his twin; Tom's sexy was such that, even in those awful XXL clothes, girls still swarmed all over him trying to get a piece. Bill didn't bother with jealousy. He knew Tom only let the girls get away with it because he couldn't be bothered to make the effort to repel them.

It wasn't as though any of the girls got to go home with Tom, after all.

"Shove over," Bill told the blond barfly without malice. He did entertain the notion of pushing her pert nose through her brain when she scooted closer to Tom.

Tom laughed and pushed the girl off him until she fell against the booth with an indignant cry. He ignored her and opened an arm for Bill to settle against him.

Unceremoniously Bill climbed over the barfly and cuddled up against Tom's side, expelling a sigh he didn't realize he'd been holding when Tom's lips touched his temple.

"Careful, you're sexy with a murderous glint in your eye," he warned Bill. “I might have to take you into the back room.”

"You said you didn't have a girlfriend!" the blond barfly whined, struggling to get upright without letting her micro-skirt ride clear the way up to her waist.

Tom laughed outright. "If you think Bill is my girlfriend, you'd better get your eyes examined," he said. "Anyhow, you asked the wrong question and made your own assumptions."

"Come on, baby, don't go away mad," Andreas said, coaxing, when the girl got up with a very unattractive pout and grabbed for the clutch she'd left on the tabletop. "Let me buy you a drink. I'm certainly not committed."

Bill arched a brow and somehow managed to keep his laughter down as the barfly brightened and slid onto the half-bench on the other side of the table from him and Tom. He lifted himself up a bit, one hand rubbing over his twin's thigh, and looked around the front of Tom to eye the waitress. "On a break, or before shift...?" he began, letting his inquiry dangle open-ended.

The brunette lifted her chin as though she contemplated challenging Bill. "I've got every right to sit here," she began.

"Sweetheart," Bill said, infusing the endearment with his most poisonously charming inflection, "that wasn't my question."

Tom laughed as the waitress flushed and sat bolt upright, pulling her arm away from Tom's side as though she'd been shocked.

"There's no one in the club and my boss doesn't care," the waitress snapped.

Bill made a shooing gesture with one beringed hand. "Back to work, sweetheart. Tell the bartender Bill wants his usual."

The waitress assumed a smile that was clearly forced, disentangled herself from Tom's side of the booth, and smoothed her black apron down over the tops of her thighs. She stood there for a moment, rigid, before wheeling and departing the VIP area with what Bill would definitely call a flounce.

"If you had your hand on her ass," Bill said into Tom's ear, "not only was it a tease of the worst sort, but I might have to punish you later."

Tom tilted his head to bring himself eye to eye with Bill, his face flush with amusement. "Really? What sort of punishment?" he asked, sounding very interested.

"I haven't worked out all of the details yet, but there's a certain model of supposedly indestructible restraints that Orion uses for Nephilim offenders and I got my hands on a pair..." Bill said, sotto voce. It wouldn't do for the barfly to hear secrets she had no business listening to.

"Maybe I did have my hand on her ass," Tom said, now intrigued, but Bill could tell he was lying.

He laughed and snuggled closer to Tom, reaching a hand in under Tom's baggy shirt to stroke over taut stomach muscles. Such a waste to cover such a beautiful body with his huge shirts, he often thought, but the upside to that was that Bill was on the very short list of people that got to admire it. A list of one, so far as Bill knew. Tom's breath hissed inward as Bill's fingers stroked over him, and he tightened his arm around Bill.

"Come here," Tom growled, angling his head to bring his lips into alignment with Bill's.

Their noses bumped and Bill laughed softly before Tom's mouth pressed against his, firm and urgent. Tom had definitely been home not long ago. He smelled freshly-washed, the scent of shower gel still strong on his skin, failing to completely cover Tom's own intrinsic odor. He tasted of beer and, beneath that, the hint of toothpaste. "Tomi," Bill said against his twin's mouth, then Tom was slipping his tongue inside to claim him again.

They could kiss, only that, for hours and Bill would be satisfied. Almost. Tom's tongue was urgent against his, pushing inside to toy with the head of Bill's barbell piercing, twining against Bill's own tongue. They wrestled back and forth with their tongues, taking turns guiding the ebb and flow of the kiss. Lips broke apart and met again eagerly, hot gusts of air were shared between them; but as focused on each other as they were, eventually the noise of a loud protest made itself known.

"Pan's nipples, you guys need to go and get a room," Georg's voice informed them. "Break it up, break it up, come on – I'm not sliding into a booth where the two of you are eating each other's faces off."

Bill didn't bother biting back the little moan that escaped him when Tom leaned against him and sucked his earlobe into his mouth, fretting his lip ring against the sensitive flesh.

"Save it for later," Gustav uttered, quiet but pitched intense enough to carry over the club's background music.

Bill pulled himself free of Tom's mouth when it seemed his twin was in no way inclined to break their connection. They grinned at each other from a very short distance and Tom's hand rubbed over his thigh beneath the table.

"Mm, maybe I like you when you're jealous," Tom said, biting down briefly on his own spit-glistening lower lip, making Bill want to lean in and capture it all over again.

"Lover, you haven't seen jealous," Bill told his twin, patting Tom's cheek. He shifted to give Georg a bright grin. "What? This is typical behavior for us."

"I know; I know it is," Georg groaned, tipping himself onto the booth seat beside Bill while keeping a reasonable amount of distance between them. "And if you weren't so damned happy all the time, and our band so much fucking better, I'd say I preferred things the way they were before you found... gah."

"My mate," Bill filled in the blank smugly. As close as he was to Georg and Gustav as band-fellows, it had been impossible to hide the full truth from them, too.

"Ugh," Georg responded. "Do you have to actually say it?" For as much noise as he made about it, though, Bill could read his band-mate's body language and knew that the protestations were for show.

Gustav was more of a cipher to Bill; he was very cool and self-contained. Bill made sure not to play poker with him. He had reacted with the same composure upon being told that Bill and Tom were not only twins, but lovers, as he had to the announcement that Tom was replacing former guitarist Oren. So Bill wasn't sure of Gustav's opinion on his and Tom's relationship, but he wasn't giving them trouble nor any shit for it like Georg, and that was the crucial thing.

"Yes," Tom answered for Bill.

"Already told you, there's no point in hiding it," Bill added. "We're around you guys often enough that you would have noticed _something._ "

"What, you mean the twin thing?" Georg asked sarcastically. "Because the way you don't even bother to try keeping your hands off each other, I don't think you intended to hide the 'being lovers' thing."

Bill simply laughed and leaned against Tom's leg, patting his knee. It was true. When he introduced Tom, he introduced him simply as "My Tom," and let people draw their own conclusions. He never denied they were twins, if asked; and he wouldn't deny they were lovers, either.

Tom leaned even closer, pressing his lips to Bill's earlobe, latching on with his teeth again. "You want to--"

The waitress clomped back up into the VIP section, a single drink adorning the black tray on her hand. She set the highball glass in front of Bill. "Manager wants a word with you," she told him, then looked around at the others as Gustav slid onto the booth to the other side of Tom, and Georg popped to his feet again. "You gentlemen want anything?"

Bill raised his pierced brow, then craned his neck to get a look at the tall, beefy figure standing beside the bar chatting with a couple of men in suits. He sighed.

"Want me to--" Tom began, hitching up so that he could see the bar, too. He stiffened.

"No!" Bill interrupted hastily. "I'll take care of it, okay?"

"If you're sure," Tom said. The glint in his eye told Bill that he'd do whatever he saw fit.

Bill disentangled himself from his twin and made his way out of the VIP section, sashaying a bit to give Tom something to look forward to when they made the time. He crossed the empty dance floor and noted in passing that there were more people flocking to the Sweetbox, seated at the tables that were artfully positioned around the dance floor and periphery of the stage even this early in the afternoon. There were a few couples of different varieties; mixed sex, same sex. A few business suits taking a drink with their own kind, so maybe it was a decent place to close a deal out of the office before the end of business hours.

The tall, beefy man in the light gray suit turned as Bill arranged himself against the bar in a businesslike pose, drink in one hand. The manager of the club was a big guy, powerfully built, with a prominent neck tattoo featuring a character in a language with which Bill wasn't familiar. He called himself Bushido, though Bill knew his real name was something else.

"There's my boy," Bushido greeted him, setting his own drink aside and clapping his hands together.

"I'm not your boy," Bill snapped back at once, then tried to soften it up somewhat with a smile. Although there was something about the man that set his teeth on edge, the band needed Bushido, and Bill couldn't afford to antagonize him. He had ties to the local music industry, and he'd been giving their band a lot of play in the upscale club circuit. It was the kind of set-up that often led to album deals, and Bill thought they were ready for that.

"So when are we going to get together?" Bushido asked him, running a hand up Bill's arm from the back of his wrist up to his tricep.

Bill had never been intimidated or creeped out by any of his would-be suitors before, but the way Bushido behaved around him finally gave him insight into the terms. "Once again," Bill said through a sweet smile, "somewhere between never and hell's frozen shore." There was something too pushy about this man's advances. Bill was certain he wouldn't have given Bushido a try even if he had met him before Tom.

Bushido simply laughed at that. He stroked his fingers over the back of Bill's hand before Bill could remove it from the bar without betraying his preternatural speed.

The warm energy that presaged his twin's presence prickled along Bill's skin even through his clothes and Tom appeared out of nowhere, looping an arm around Bill's waist. Bill didn't have to turn his head to sense the cold, flat stare that Tom was leveraging on Bushido.

"Then let's talk music," Bushido said with another soft chuckle. His gaze remained fixed on Bill, roving over him undeterred by Tom's presence at his side. "What kind of set are you playing in my club tonight? I heard you've got some new songs."

Bill eyed him suspiciously, searching for hidden meaning. Bushido smelled sharp-sour and smoky, like danger and arousal, but it appeared he was ready to get down to business after all. That was another reason Bill found him off-putting; his words never quite matched the cues Bill read from body language and scent. All except the ceaseless come-ons.

It was starting to get old, but there were some things that even sociopaths had to put up with. Bill put on his brightest public-relations smile.

"Yes, we've got a new opening we want to try; it's got a faster rhythm and should get the crowd moving..."


	3. Chapter Three

"Third one this week," the officer who had been first on the scene confirmed.

Detective Randall tapped his stylus against his notebook and frowned. "And this death was consistent with the others?"

"Yeah, blunt force trauma. One hell of a punch. No way something human did that, know what I mean?"

Randall nodded, stowing his stylus and walking further up the alley to where a slender young woman was kneeling beside the body. "Whitbeck?" he prompted.

The young woman lifted her head and swept dark hair out of her eyes. "Psychic trace indicates it was self-defense, but..." She hesitated, and Randall executed a 'come on' gesture with one hand. "Well, the scene was wiped of all presence but that of the decedent."

Randall's frown deepened. "Explain."

"Whoever did this was strong enough to cave this man's face in with a punch, but also fast enough – skilled and powerful enough – to wipe the scene of their own psychic trace. They even made it seem as though the decedent was the one to perform that tricky bit of magic."

Randall stared at Whitbeck, then closed his eyes. "All right. How's that possible?"

"It's not possible for the decedent to have wiped the psychic trace," Whitbeck said with a soft snort that seemed so incongruous coming from a woman with her refined features. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Randall brought up one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't like that," he said at last.

"Thought you wouldn't," Whitbeck murmured, rising from her crouch and turning her back on the dead man. "If that's all you needed from me?"

"Yes, you can go," Randall replied, already pulling out his stylus again. "Make sure to file your psychic forensic report as soon as possible; I have a feeling I'm going to need it in case physical forensic trace comes up dry."

"I have a feeling it will," Whitbeck said over her shoulder. "And I'm no precognitive."

Randall stared down at the dead body. The man's head was lolled to the side, face contorted in a last expression of dismay that was half-caved in by the damage that had been done to the jaw and ear canal. He was going to need Whitbeck's report because he knew this one would require a query from Orion's database of monsters – the ones that wore human appearance, though demon blood ran in their veins. That kind of query required sign-off from his boss, and the higher-ups didn't approve of making those kinds of requests until mundane resources had been thoroughly exhausted.

So Randall would pursue trace evidence until that dried up, and then he'd have to go about proving he needed a list of the demon-blooded who possessed both sufficient strength and the magical or psychic know-how to manipulate psychic signatures.

Still, according to Whitbeck, all three of this week's violent deaths had been self-defense, and she was one of the best para-forensic specialists in the city. It made Randall's principles bristle, but he knew he might end up being protocol-bound to offer protection to whoever had left the kills if they truly were self-defense – unless they happened to be on Orion's bounty list already, in which case it was open season on the monsters so far as he was concerned.

* * *

The show was a screaming success, the throng of growing fans had all but stormed the stage, and now that it was over, Tom was once again wound around his twin as nature – at least, their natures – intended. Only rapt absorption in his guitar kept him from dragging his twin off the stage mid-show. Since Bill had expressed his opinion of that in very strong terms, Tom generally kept his gaze fixed on the guitar.

He still had his other senses, though, and extraordinary peripheral vision. Simply knowing that Bill was shimmying across the stage in his tight black jeans, scenting the excitement on Bill as he swayed and sang his heart out, was always enough to leave him hard.

After stowing his own gear and leaving their bandmates to finish the tear-down with the club's crew, Tom went in search of his twin. Bill was the front man, so he had to circulate, be seen and secure more exposure and deals for the band when available, but it didn't mean Tom had to like anything that kept him from Bill's side even for an instant. He found him beside the bar, black-varnished nails tapping the side of an empty glass as he hung back from the general throng that had resumed their places on the dance floor. His amber-brown eyes were hooded, inscrutable.

Tom ground himself into Bill as he slipped his arms around him, pressing the denim-covered knot of his erection against the too-tempting swell of his twin's ass.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Tom said into Bill's ear, fitting his hands on Bill's hips.

Bill laughed, lifting his head to gaze briefly in Bushido's direction. The owner was circling the VIP section, which explained why Bill was down by the bar instead of separated from the potential of groupie encounters. "He can look all he wants, he can't have me."

Tom set his mouth against Bill's neck and his lips curved against Bill's skin. "He wouldn't be able to handle you anyhow, you're too much for him."

Bill turned in Tom's arms, yoking his hands together behind Tom's neck. "I'm too much for anyone but you, aren't I, Tomi?"

Tom laughed and grabbed Bill's ass in both hands. This was definitely headed in the direction he wanted. "Bathroom, back of the van, or home?" he asked.

"Gods, what a choice," Bill groaned, and clacked his tongue stud against his teeth. 

The sound drove Tom nuts; it was hard-wired into his dick. All he could think of now was Bill's hot mouth on him. Other considerations – band-mates, disrespectful club owners, someone attempting Bill's life – all of it faded into white noise.

"Think fast or I'm gonna choose for you," Tom warned.

"I dunno, I think we did Georg some serious mental trauma last time we did it in the van," Bill said, and gasped as Tom's warm hands rode up the front of his shirt.

"Like I care about Georg's mental trauma."

Bill's hand found its way below Tom's shirt, caressing over the skin around his navel, and that was it. The uninhibited way he stroked Tom's skin, dipping one finger into the concave heat of his bellybutton, made Tom wonder if Bill had forgotten the effect of skin-contact between them or simply didn't care. It sent a flashfire of lust clear through him; Tom could barely think straight. All he knew was that Bill would care if he tried to turn him over the bar and do him right there.

The fact that his own hands were pushing Bill's shirt halfway up his torso simply meant that great minds thought alike.

"Let's go," Tom gasped, fingers biting into Bill's wrist as he wrenched his twin's hand out of his shirt.

Bill gave him a lazy, sex-infused curl of a smile and made a small noise in the back of his throat that produced an answering jolt in Tom's cock. "Bathroom?" he offered, as Tom used his grip on Bill's wrist to tow him off the floor.

"Unless you can think of anything closer," Tom muttered. The tangy scent of Bill's sweat and arousal was driving every thought out of his mind but rutting into him until they both came screaming.

"Bathroom," Bill repeated, sounding equally mindless as he surged forward, parting the bottleneck of bodies crushed into the narrow hallway that led up to the bathrooms. At some point the hallway veered left toward the backstage area, but that wasn't secluded enough – there were still club staff back and forth, tearing down the band's set-up. Too public for Bill's taste. There were no dressing rooms.

Now Bill was in the lead, flashing an alluring smile over his shoulder as Tom followed and maintained a grip on his wrist. Tom growled; the other people in the crowd had become enemies to him if they so much as looked at Bill, and no one could help looking.

He put his hands to Bill's hips again, nuzzling the side of his throat as they jumped the queue for the bathroom and Bill banged on the door. Someone in line made an exasperated noise and Tom slanted a glare over his shoulder; the college boy at the head of the line looked startled and turned away.

"Get the fuck out!" Bill called, cheerful tone at odds with the urgency of his order.

"Occupado," a deep voice responded.

Tom was wrapped so close to Bill's backside he could feel his twin's pulse quicken. Bill didn't usually take well to being told 'no.'

"I'll give you two seconds before I break down the door. One--" Bill began, already lifting his foot.

"Uh, Bill?" Tom said against Bill's hair. "If you break it down, we won't have any privacy, and that's kind of why we want to get in there in the first place." If Bill kicked the door in, he'd break it in half at the very least.

"Oh, right."

"Find another bathroom if you're in that much of a hurry!" the deep voice yelled back.

Bill shifted restlessly in his arms, sneaking one hand to rub against the front of his jeans. Tom bit his neck, not enough to mark it but to set his teeth there. "Let's do it in the van," he rumbled into Bill's ear, enjoying the way Bill shuddered back against him. "Wanna get inside you _now;_ I can't wait until we get home."

Bill's face turned in his direction. His beautiful face was flushed; he had set his teeth in his bottom lip. All he could do was nod and Tom knew by the way he'd been rendered speechless that his little brother wanted it every bit as bad.

"Let's go."

The band van was parked in the alley behind the Sweetbox. It was locked up, the back loaded with equipment, and Bill moaned, slapping an open palm against the side of the sliding door. The van rocked and Tom chuckled.

"Calm down, I have a key."

"Open. Now," Bill demanded, sounding feral with need.

Tom fumbled the key out of his pocket, assuring his twin, "Gonna have sex with you, so hard."

Bill moaned as though he were already feeling it. "Now, Tomi; I need it now."

Tom got the door open somehow without wrenching it off the hinges and followed Bill as his brother crawled onto the back bench, already fumbling with his zipper. Tom undid his belt and let his pants slither down his thighs, making sure to get the lube out of his pocket first.

"None of that one finger, two finger bullshit," Bill told him, leveling wide, slightly mad eyes on Tom. He twisted on his back on the bench and rode his tight jeans down his thighs, exposing his clinging black boxers. "Just--"

"Slick it up and put it in," Tom agreed, riding down his own boxers with one hand. He tossed the lube onto Bill's belly, grinning when his twin whined and arched his butt off the bench, pushing at his boxers with both impatient hands. "Unless you want to rip all your clothes off, I need to turn you over or get you stripped."

Confusion flashed through Bill's red-pupiled eyes. He was incapable of making even the simplest of decisions, and he whined again and pushed up off the bench as though urging Tom to get _on_ him; enough waiting.

Tom grabbed his twin by the ankle and began to depants him, starting with his clunky boots. Bill struggled a bit, twisting and making things generally difficult and shrieking, "No, no," even though he heaved up so that Tom could slide his boxers off.

"Quit that," Tom told him sharply, securing both of Bill's ankles in one hand. Bill toppled back onto his elbows, one hand feathering over his own hip and the black star tattoo there as he gave Tom sultry eyes.

"I'm so hungry, Tomi," he crooned.

Tom nodded, grabbing for the lube where it had tumbled onto the bench. "I'll give it to you," he said, breathless.

Bill moaned and stretched himself out over the bench, spanning almost the entire length of it with only his lean upper torso. Tom bit his lip and brought his concentration to bear, thumbing the cap open and squeezing out what he needed. He knelt at the very edge of the bench, pushed Bill's legs up, dropped the tube, and lined himself up at Bill's hot little hole.

"Please," Bill whispered, as Tom jacked the lube over his very hard, very ready dick.

"Shut up," Tom told him. "Is that what you usually tell your rapists?"

"Oh!" Bill's eyes popped open. "Oh, please, stop! Stop it some more!" He began to grin, and Tom's lips tugged upward too, then it turned into a sharp and somewhat savage expression as he bore his weight down onto Bill and pushed his cock into his mate's tight, unprepared entrance.

"Ahhh!" Bill sighed as Tom plowed into him, the sound skating the edge of pain and pleasure.

Tom wiped his slick hand on Bill's shirt and grabbed his hips in both hands, guiding himself to the perfect depth. "Yes," he hissed, wanting to close his eyes but not able to do it as long as Bill's face was before him, that half-stunned, ecstatic look he got when Tom first joined their bodies.

Bill tried to shift under him but Tom had all the leverage as he seized his brother's thighs and began to pull himself in and out of Bill's tight, hot ass.

"Oh gods, oh fuck, ahhh...unh..." the sound dragged out of Bill. He reached above himself for the bench armrest but he had a bad angle. "Fuck, Tom, fuck me harder!"

"Uh-huh," Tom grunted, rocking into Bill with long, maddeningly slow thrusts even though all his bodily instincts screamed at him to cover Bill and pump away with mindless intensity.

Bill mewled beneath him, hands scrabbling over his stomach, riding up his t-shirt, grasping at Tom's hands. Mouth open, he breathed hard, reaching an anxious pitch as he shifted and tried to fuck himself faster on Tom's cock. His breathing quickened to desperate pants and Tom's own breathing pattern roughened, sped up in response. "Ahh, ahhh!" Bill wailed, thrashing.

Tom grabbed his twin's thighs harder, canting them to a more severe angle as he leaned in and began to roll his hips faster. "Take it," he told Bill, barely aware he was speaking let alone aware of what he said. "Yeah, take it all."

"Tomi, yes, yes, fuck my ass," Bill responded, heaving his body up off the bench to try and meet Tom's deep strokes. Sweat dewed his hairline and jaw and his face screwed into a half-crazed expression. He was the most beautiful creature Tom had ever seen.

Tom groaned, relaxing a fraction of his control and pulling back only to ram into Bill, hard. He gripped Bill's thighs tight, holding him still as he could, and bent over Bill as he worked his cock in and out, fast and shallow.

Their bodies smacked together hard and harder and Bill cried out, his voice breaking. Wordless, he cried out again, grasping at the front of Tom's shirt and trying to haul him closer. Fabric ripped.

Without warning, the van's side door rolled open behind them, casting light over Tom's shoulder onto Bill's sweating, lust-dazed face.

"Get the fuck out," Tom barked, turning his head to the side as he continued to wallow in Bill, though not far enough to see who'd been stupid enough to interrupt them.

Bill hitched himself up onto his elbows, staring past Tom, eyes narrowing. "Shut the door," he snapped, then his head went back and he loosed a long, unfettered moan as Tom sped up, driving his cock into Bill in quick deep-dicking thrusts.

The door was pulled shut hastily, closing faster than it had been opened.

"I know him," Bill panted, letting his upper body drop back down onto the bench. "Fuck, ahh, _there._ Tom, I know him."

"Was it Georg?" Tom said, though he was not really interested in the answer so much. The world was narrowing down to the feel of his cock gliding in and out of Bill's amazing ass and the way his twin was contracting his powerful muscles around him.

"Noooo," Bill moaned, beginning to thrash again. "Oh! Ohh!"

Tom bent over his twin, held Bill's thighs to his chest, and fucked into him. "I'll give it to you," he promised. "I'll give you what you want, Bill." He jackknifed Bill practically in half and rode his twin hard until Bill screamed and began to squirm. His cock jetted come between them, jerking untouched over his belly and landing the wet spurts of his release onto his t-shirt. All the while Bill made soft, pleasure-dazed noises in the back of his throat.

"Tom," Bill called to him, a husky siren's lure. "Tommm, Tomi, get it in me. Get me wet." He rubbed his hands up and down his lengthened torso, smearing come from his shirt onto his skin.

"Fuck," Tom choked, helpless against that kind of blatant seduction.

He drove into Bill a few more times before his hips stilled and he looked full into Bill's face, biting down on his own lower lip as he spilled his release into his twin's willing body. Almost as soon as his cock was spent he pulled out, yanking his ripped t-shirt off and dropping it onto Bill's stomach, between his legs. He laid atop his twin, crushing his mouth down onto Bill's as his brother's fingers reached up to twine into his dreadlocks.

"So good," Bill breathed against the corner of his mouth. "So, so good, Tomi."

Tom mumbled something half-coherent that might have been agreement and wriggled on top of Bill, already thinking about doing it again. "Love you," he added.

"Mmm, love you too," Bill said with a luxurious sigh. He wrapped his arms over Tom's shoulders. "Hey. _Hey._ I knew that guy, the one who opened the door."

"Was it Gustav?" Tom mumbled.

"No, he probably would have said something," Bill replied, stretching up to nip at Tom's piercing.

"Was it Andreas?" Tom guessed.

"Nooo," Bill said, drawing out the word. "But I knew him, I did. I've seen him on campus, I swear I have."

Tom, who had been losing interest when Bill had denied it was anyone that Tom was familiar with, went on the alert. "What? Wait a minute, you knew him? Did you recognize him?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I wanted you to look, in case you did."

"I was kind of busy at the time," Tom reminded his twin. "Have you seen that guy a lot, recently?"

Bill frowned. "Not sure," he said at last.

Tom compressed his mouth. "Well. Make sure you let me know if you see him again. Might be worth checking out."

"Or it could be another stalker," Bill murmured, stretching up to plant a kiss beside Tom's mouth, then another on his nose. "Hmm, good thing my last one turned out to be a keeper."

"I wasn't a stalker," Tom said, annoyed. It still baffled him that – of all the possibilities to cross his mind when Tom had been looking for his moment to approach on the day he'd found him – Bill had thought he was a _stalker._

"Well, at least you drive all the other ones away," Bill said, nuzzling alongside Tom's jaw then flicking his tongue out to taste him. "Oof. We should get moving, air the van out or something."

"Why?" Tom asked artlessly.

"I'm sick of Georg bitching about how we reek of sex after the shows," Bill said, fanning a hand through the air. He grinned as he said it, though.

Tom raised a brow. "Really? We should see about giving him something _worth_ complaining about, then." He dropped his full weight onto Bill and made him squeal. Then he began to move, and Bill moaned.

The passenger door to the van creaked open.

"...and I figured we could – ah, goddamn it!" Georg cut himself off mid-sentence, swearing. "Do you guys really have to nail each other _everywhere!?_ "

"Yes," Tom said at once. It was why he kept lube in his pocket, after all.

Bill wound his arms around Tom tight enough to make himself difficult to disentangle, and he set his cheek against Tom's. "The bathroom was occupied," he added.

"Gods above, just... can you try to, I don't know, _not_ do it in our common areas?" Georg demanded, sounding very frustrated.

Tom considered it. He wasn't willing to make that kind of commitment.

"Drive us home," Bill said, waving an imperious hand.

Gustav climbed into the driver seat and, without a word, cranked down his window.

"Ugh," Georg said. He hastily cranked down his own. "It smells like dirty boysex in here. I wish I didn't know what that smells like." 

"Home!" Bill commanded, louder.

"Or we'll do it again," Tom added. He already had a hand on Bill's ass.

"Home it is," Gustav said calmly, shifting the van into gear.


	4. Chapter Four

Fortunately for Georg and Gustav, they knew better than to look into the back seat area when transporting Bill and his twin. There had been an...incident...shortly after the purchase of the band van that had made Gustav threaten to pull over and Georg had complained for days. After despoiling him so pleasurably, Tom had the good manners to use his ripped t-shirt to clean Bill up, and he was extremely thorough about it. So thorough, in fact, that by the time the band van pulled to a halt in front of the twins' apartment, Bill was sporting another hard-on.

"You're going to take me upstairs and blow me," Bill informed Tom, because it was about time for some turnabout.

"I am?" Tom said, his full mouth curving in a smirk.

"Well, I guess you could do it right here," Bill said dubiously, "but..."

"No fucking way!" Georg said at once. "It still reeks in here, you guys; come _on!_ Not to mention, I don't need to hear that."

"Right," Tom said. "Thanks for the ride, Gustav. Later, Georg."

"See you tomorrow," Gustav replied.

"Bye, guys; come _on,_ Tom," Bill said impatiently, pushing at his twin's shoulder to get him to pull open the side-sliding door of the van.

It still took a moment longer to be quit of their band-mates as Tom liberated his cherished guitar from the back of the van. After finding out that Tom could play, Bill had run out and spent almost his entire spare clothes allowance for the rest of the year on the best guitar he could locate, and Tom had taken to the guitar Bill had picked with an enthusiasm that couldn't be faked. Though Tom rarely practiced at home, his guitar was one piece of equipment that didn't get trucked around with the rest of the band instruments and amps.

Bill waited for him at the curb, tapping his nails along the upper arm over his leather jacket as he ran his eyes critically over the baggy seat of his twin's jeans yet again. He opened his mouth to critique Tom's outfit, then snapped it shut. Starting that argument again right now would probably put a damper on his most immediate priority – he was hard again, after all, and it was all Tom's fault, so it was Tom's responsibility to take care of it.

Tom slapped the back of the van once he'd shut it, and Gustav drove off.

He turned to Bill with a glint in his eye, and Bill backed up. He caught himself before he could take more than a step or two backward. He hated displaying any kind of body language that could be perceived as submissive to anyone, even his twin. Bottoming didn't mean he was Tom's bitch.

There were moments that Bill could swear he could read Tom's mind; that their synaptic pathways were firing along a single connection although they were two separate bodies, two separate people. Right then the look in Tom's eye was beyond possessive. It was primal, and it thrilled right down to Bill's Nephilim core.

"Not out here," Bill said, his voice low, dark. It sounded as though he were saying 'yes' when he really did mean no.

"How long has Bushido been coming onto you like that?" Tom demanded, even though it was an unnecessary question. Tom had to know, since they'd only met Bushido recently, after all.

Instead of answering that question, Bill licked his lips and turned his back on Tom, heading for the entrance to the apartment building. "You know I haven't done anything to encourage him," Bill replied over his shoulder, speaking to what he sensed was the real issue.

Tom made a frustrated noise and scuffled to catch up with him. "If this wasn't the human world, I'd have called him out by now," Tom informed him, as Bill held the outer door.

"Yes, well, it _is_ the human world, and Bushido has connections, so I can't blow him off and you can't kill him," Bill replied. "Remember, here inside the Wall you've got to stick to the human version of a justified kill--"

"Or don't get caught," Tom completed for him with a smirk. He hefted his guitar case easily into the crook of one arm as they climbed the stairs. "Damn it, when is that old man going to fix the elevator? What does he do with the rent money every month?"

"Complaining about a little exercise, Tomi?" Bill said mischievously, casting a look over his shoulder at his twin.

"Hell, no! I just think we get enough in bed," Tom replied. He wriggled his eyebrows.

Bill couldn't help himself; he broke out into a sunny smile. "Well, we do burn a lot of calories that way," he admitted.

They clomped up to the top floor and Bill kicked the stairwell door out of their way. The latch was broken and the door never closed completely anymore as a result; Bill thought that one might have been his fault but if it had been, he didn't remember breaking it.

"Come on, Tomi," Bill urged, pressing a hand to the crotch of his jeans. He was still hard, though the immediacy had faded somewhat during the transition from car to top floor. He hadn't forgotten the blowjob that he wanted from Tom, though. "Hurry up, I want..."

"I know what you want," Tom muttered, bumping his guitar case into him from behind.

Bill flashed a mischievous look over his shoulder. "Are you sure? I could be talking about dinner."

"But you're not," Tom said, low and certain, and that definitely sent a happy twinge through Bill's groin.

Bill dug into his handbag for his key fob, glanced at the front door to his apartment, and frowned. There was a sheet attached to his door, a long, thin plastic notice of some kind. He leaned in to read it.

"Fuck," he said at once. Eviction notice. There went his hard-on.

"What?" Tom prompted, pressing his shoulder to Bill's and reading the notice, too, as he set his guitar case down. "The hell is this? Wait, can he do that? What the fuck for?"

"He can do that," Bill confirmed, leaning harder against his twin's shoulder and sighing. "Damn it. It's not about the complaints; this says we're being evicted because of damages. Figures."

“Fucking pussy,” Tom remarked, yanking the plastic strip off the door and crumpling it in one hand. “Couldn't even be bothered to tell us to our faces.”

“Would _you_ want to serve you an eviction notice if you were an older, helpless human?” Bill said calmly, taking the notice from Tom's fist and ironing it out with his thumbs up against the door to read the finer details. “At least he gave us two days.”

Tom's eyes acquired a casually homicidal glint. “If he'd only given us twenty-four hours...”

“Yes, yes, you probably would have killed him,” Bill said, brushing past Tom and unlocking the door with an irritated flick of his wrist. "Didn't we just have this conversation? You can't go around killing people for no reason."

"Justifiable homicide," Tom said, giving him a smirk as Bill paused at the threshold. "I was avenging a murder."

Bill cocked his head at his twin.

"He killed your hard-on!" Tom said, raising both brows, and Bill cackled, leaning against the door.

He straightened in the next moment, banging a fist against the frame and gouging out a chunk of wood. “Fuck, I have class all day tomorrow and we've got another show tomorrow night, how am I supposed to go apartment shopping on short notice like this?”

Tom scoffed. “He gave us an eviction notice but I'd love to see him try to kick us out of here.”

“Naughty Tomi,” Bill said, pushing the door open and looking, really looking at the wreck that had become of his kick-ass loft apartment over the past few months. The trail of destruction started at the wall across the door, which they'd crashed into after coming home one night shortly after Tom had found him – that night they'd been so desperate for each other's skin they'd done it right against the wall without even bothering to shut the door. There were dents in the support beams that would match Bill's fingers, if he fit his hands against them. Bill was pretty sure it was from that night onward when his neighbors had stopped looking him in the eye, or even turned around when they saw him coming.

Anyway, the wreckage extended to pretty much every room of the apartment.

Tom wasn't much for home repair, and Bill was never really home except when he and Tom were together, which meant they only added more items to the list of damages.

Bill tossed his handbag to the table near the door and dropped his school bag by the door to the den-slash-office where he did his homework and Tom flipped through television channels. After setting his guitar case in a safe place, Tom came up behind him and put his arms around Bill's waist, beginning to caress beneath his shirt.

"No, I don't want to," Bill said, starting to shrug Tom off.

"What?" Tom said, clearly thinking that he'd heard wrong.

"I'm not in the mood," Bill told him, frowning at the striations in the den wall and wondering how much Cooper would try to bill them above the modest deposit he'd put down when he had moved in.

"Seriously?" Tom said, aghast, one hand still rubbing an idle circle over Bill's stomach. It dipped lower and he groped Bill's crotch, finding him soft. "Huh." He disentangled himself and folded his arms, standing beside Bill as though surveying the damage, too, though he was far more likely contemplating some method of revenge against Mr. Cooper.

"Sorry if the thought of apartment-hunting and packing killed my hard-on," Bill said, incensed, though not at his twin. Not technically.

"What do you want me to do?" Tom asked.

Bill kept his mouth shut for a moment, because saying something like _kill Mr. Cooper_ would be carried out by Tom quite literally. He had told Tom not five minutes ago that he couldn't go around killing people without a defensible reason, and yet he had to admit there was a terrible simplicity to the thought. "We need to find another place, that's all," he said, releasing a small sigh. "Unless you think you can repair all the damage we've done in the next twenty-four hours so that we can beg Mr. Cooper not to evict us." He thought about taking another look at the terms on the eviction notice and couldn't decide if it was worth the trouble.

"Are you serious?" Tom questioned.

"No, not really." Bill flashed a knowing look at his twin. "I'd be scared to give you a hammer."

Tom widened his eyes at him. "I thought the 'hammer' is what we did when we--"

"Never mind, never mind," Bill said hastily, going to fetch his mobile from the handbag he'd tossed aside. That joke was pushing it too far even for his admittedly crude sense of humor.

Calling Andreas went straight to voicemail, so Bill left a message. He scraped his hair together into a ponytail, surveying the assorted evidence of damages to his bitchin' loft apartment once more. After a long moment of brooding, he went to go find the folded-up boxes that he'd stashed after moving in, knowing that he would need them again at some point. He hadn't thought it would be so soon.

"This will be my second move in four months," he grumbled. He put his hands on his hips and considered the sheer amount of stuff he'd have to pack, and it brought the killing urge to the surface again. He found himself thinking through details like how easy it would be to find Mr. Cooper and make it look like an accident. Cooper was an older man, hardly robust, and there were so many stairs in the building, after all... One death and this particular problem would go away. Had he and his twin perpetrated all of the damages that were grounds for eviction? Absolutely. Had Bill already ignored the contract of his occupancy and brought his twin to live with him without paying the double rate? Hells, yes. Was Bill any less prone to contemplating the simplest solution that would cost him the least amount of time and effort? Well...

Bill pulled his mobile out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for Simone's number. She picked up on the second ring, sounding concerned. "Billy?"

"Mom, I'm thinking about killing someone," he said without preamble.

"Who is it, and why?"

Bill bit his lip, already having a pretty good idea of what his mother's opinion would be, but needing the reinforcement. "It's our landlord. He's evicting us for damages to the apartment."

Simone's sigh greeted that piece of information. "Oh, Bill," she sighed.

"What?" Bill said defensively. "I called you, didn't I?"

"You already know you shouldn't kill him," Simone chided. "Is it because of Tom?"

"Is what because of Tom?" Bill said, confused. "Trust me, he hasn't been the only one wrecking the place."

"No, I mean... you wouldn't normally call me for something like this, Bill. You already know that killing your landlord over something like that is wrong."

"Do I? It would be so easy," Bill muttered, sulky. "And he's old and putting us to a lot of inconvenience. We could be on the _street_ if we can't find another place."

"I'd let you stay here if you need someplace, but you know the rule," Simone said.

Bill rolled his eyes. "Yes, and it's one we can't live by. Thanks for the offer, though, Mom. I do appreciate the intent." Simone had made it clear that, while she tolerated their relationship if not exactly putting her seal of approval on it, there would be no incestuous relations under her roof, ever. He didn't even have to test it out to know that he and Tom couldn't go more than twenty-four hours without sex. Not to mention, anticipating Tom's reaction to that proposal... he winced.

Yeah, Tom would nix that option fast.

"Bill?" Simone questioned.

"I'm still here," Bill replied, and tongued at his teeth, playing with his tongue stud as he drifted through his apartment, both taking in the extent of the damages – they really had done every room – as well as inventorying the amount of packing he was faced with. He had a lot of stuff, especially clothes and boots and scarves and jewelry and handbags and those sorts of things. Tom had settled on the den couch, which they'd had to replace twice already, and he was flipping through channels with the wall display remote in one hand, going over something on his mobile with the other.

"You've never been on a hair trigger for killing, before," Simone said. "Is this...I mean, you and Tom..."

Bill's eyes lingered on his twin. It was true that Tom had a completely Nephilim attitude toward killing; it had been his upbringing, after all. Was that cavalier attitude toward life rubbing off on Bill, as well? He'd certainly killed those part-bloods with no qualms earlier this week. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have hesitated no matter what. He didn't suffer attempts on his life.

"I think Mr. Cooper deserves it," Bill said without thinking.

"Really? Do you really think that?" Simone prodded. "You said your landlord is putting you to inconvenience, but what about his? He's an older man, Bill, maintaining a large building--"

"Not very well," Bill mumbled, poking at some molding on the wall and drawing back in surprise when it crumbled easily under his touch. "Seriously, this place is falling apart."

"And I'm sure you and Tom haven't helped that along any," Simone said dryly. "Be honest, how much damage have you done to the place since Tom moved in?"

Bill held his breath.

"I'll take that for my answer," Simone said with a chuckle. "Come on, Billy, you already know you shouldn't kill the poor old man, even if you try to think of it as putting him out of his misery or repaying him for the inconvenience. So why are you really calling?"

"Because I want to kill him anyhow," Bill said honestly. "You always did tell me to call, if I wanted to. To talk it through."

"In the end, the decision is yours, you know that," Simone said. "And you also know the consequences for taking a human life without provocation."

Bill sucked in a breath.

"Without adequate provocation considered as such by a human court of law," Simone amended hastily.

"I know, I know," Bill grumbled. He liked his creature comforts, and the thought of being summarily ejected from the city without his belongings... his make-up... his _toothbrush_... was a horrifying prospect.

"It sounds like you should spend your energy on the essentials right now," Simone advised. "Find a new place, pack up and move... how much time did he give you?"

"Two days," Bill said.

"Wow," Simone said. "He must really want you out."

"Think so?" Bill said, ironic. 

"If you need someplace to store anything..."

"Right," Bill said. "Might take you up on that, depending on how things go. Thanks, Mom."

"Anytime, Billy, you know that. I mean it."

"I know," Bill said softly, then caught Tom's eye. His twin was tonguing at his lip ring idly, and he'd set down both remote and mobile. His dark eyes were on Bill, giving him undivided attention. "I think I need to focus on, uh, something else now, okay? Bye, Mom." Tom had swung up off the couch and he was headed for Bill's belt buckle before Bill even managed to hang up the call.

"What was that about?" Tom asked, as he undid Bill's pants and knelt before him.

"She thinks you're bringing out the Nephilim in me," Bill said with a smirk, tucking his mobile into his pocket.

"I'm putting a Nephilim in you, on a regular basis," Tom countered, completely straight-faced.

"Oh, shut up and suck my cock."

* * *

Tom was three fingers deep into Bill after making him come once already when the phone rang. "I'll bet I could fit my whole hand in there," he said musingly, mesmerized at the way Bill's tight little ass swallowed his fingers as he pushed them back and forth. He tucked his pinky finger in, preparing to fit that in beside its mates.

"Don't," Bill said, writhing on his face on the sheets, pushing his ass back against Tom. "Not tonight, okay? Maybe some day." As the phone rang on the nightstand, Bill stretched to reach it.

"Are you answering that?" Tom said, drizzling more lube in the cleft of Bill's ass, pushing his littlest finger in next to the others. Bill merely groaned his response, catching his mobile with the tips of his fingers and spinning it onto the bed. " _Why_ are you answering that?" He shoved his fingers in a little harder and Bill cried out.

"Could be...important," he gasped, pushing up onto his knees and bracing himself up on one elbow. He hit the call button. "Fuck, Andreas, what do you want?"

"Don't put him on speaker," Tom muttered, getting annoyed. Bill ignored him and put the call on speaker anyhow. Tom scowled and started finger-fucking him harder in retaliation.

"Goddamn it, Bill, did you answer the call in the middle of sex again?" Andreas demanded, sounding as annoyed, if not more so, than Tom.

"Not quite...ooh, right there...in the middle; more like during prep," Bill answered, tensing and flexing around Tom's fingers.

Tom considered pulling his fingers out and getting on Bill right then, but making Andreas listen to Bill get mounted was a little too much even for him. It hadn't been Andreas' fault that Bill had answered, after all. "We _are_ in the middle of sex," he corrected his twin, instead. "So make it fast."

"Bill called me," Andreas answered, sounding frustrated. "Why don't you call me back later?"

"No, no, I remember why I called," Bill said hastily. Tom pulled his fingers out and Bill whined, wriggling his ass back at Tom. "Don't take them out, Tom, gods – unless you're going to replace them with your cock."

"Bill!" Andreas yelped.

"Bill," Tom growled, pushed up against his limit. He wanted to fuck Bill; _Bill_ wanted him to fuck Bill, but the humans had a code of conduct and Andreas was their friend, and Tom was pretty sure what he was about to do was against that code.

"Nng...Andi, we need to find a new apartment, we're getting evicted," Bill said. He cast a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, mouthing, 'get on with it!'

Raising a brow, Tom wiped the lube off his hand, gripped Bill's hip in with the other, and guided his cock to Bill's swollen, stretched-open entrance. He bit his lip and pushed in.

"That's awful! What the hell for?" Andreas exclaimed.

Tom's head went back and he seized Bill's hips in both hands, guiding his cock all the way into Bill's clutching heat. Bill moaned immediately, dropping his head onto folded arms, pushing back against Tom in quick rocking motions to encourage him to start thrusting. He gave a little shriek when Tom did, bouncing him hard and fast against the bed.

"Never mind," Andreas said. "Look, do you want to meet me and some friends for dinner after you're done? I haven't heard of any openings near campus but they might have more ideas than I do; I know that Kerri has moved, like, twice a year for the past few years."

"Sounds good," Bill said breathily. "Kerri... Kerri... that's not the one I had sex with a few months back, is it?"

Tom's fingers dug into Bill's hips and he pumped into him harder, making his twin squeak.

"No, that was Candace," Andreas replied. "Look, I'll hang up and message you the info, all right?"

"Uh-huh," Bill grunted, groping for the phone to end the call.

Tom plunged forward, sending Bill skidding over the bed with the force of his thrust. Bill wailed, groping for a handhold to brace himself. His muscles rippled around Tom, making Tom spit out a heartfelt curse and seize Bill's waist hard. He banged into him, starting to grunt steadily as he got closer to orgasm, then the phone emitted the words, "Oh, fuck you guys."

Apparently it was still on speaker.

"Oops," Bill gasped, sounding genuinely chagrined. "Sorry, Andi!"

"Turn that stupid thing off," Tom snarled, subsiding into slow, shallow strokes.

"Sorry," Bill said again, reaching for it and fumbling with several buttons until the screen of the device went dark. He cast it to the side and braced himself on hands and knees, arching his back and angling a sex-hazed look at Tom over his shoulder. "Fuck me?"

Tom glanced upward as though begging patience of gods he didn't even pray to. "Now I've got your attention."

"Always, you always have my attention," Bill said. He bit his lip and widened his eyes at Tom, somehow managing to look innocent and deliciously debauched at the same time.

Tom gripped the base of his cock and pulled out, smacking Bill's ass when his little brother produced an angry, bitchy snarl at the loss. "Turn over," Tom ordered. "No, get onto your side."

He rubbed the head of his cock over and around Bill's wet, reddened entrance, teasing him with the tip just outside until Bill growled at him.

"Put it in or I'm going to roll you over and take it for myself," he threatened in a very dominant tone.

Tom couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, I would love to see that," he said aloud. They hadn't done any serious wrestling, so the thought actually did excite him a bit. Still, he swiped his cockhead around Bill's hole again, frowning as he let himself consider, for the first time, how things might have been if they had grown up together in House Kaulitz. Would they have fought more, struggled for dominance between them to a greater extent? Would they still be mated if they'd grown up together? He frowned harder and pushed himself back into Bill, needing to re-establish that connection. He grabbed at Bill's thigh to haul their bodies close with a fleshy smack.

"What," Bill gasped, hips already beginning to move in order to match Tom's choppy rhythm. "What was that last thought? I didn't quite get it."

"If we'd grown up together," Tom said shortly. He bent over Bill and allowed himself to take his time for a moment, pulling away until only the tip of him was inside, then pushing it all back in and making Bill groan. He repeated that, dragging it out slow.

Bill lifted his top leg a little higher to give Tom better access and shot him a sultry look from beneath lowered lashes. "We'd still be like this, Tomi." He gasped and arched his back as Tom dragged the head of his cock across his prostate. "Oh! Do that again."

Tom did it again, grunting satisfaction. Nailing Bill's prostate felt almost as good to him as the actual act of screwing into him, which was a strange but wonderful experience. He'd sure as hell never felt that with anyone else and it was amazing incentive to find the right angle. "How are you so sure?" he challenged.

Bill's breath sobbed between his teeth as Tom gave him a series of deep thrusts, then a hazy kind of reason returned to his eyes when Tom backed off, returning to shallow pulses of his pelvis against Bill's ass. "We were together in the night, remember? What was _your_ first wet dream about?"

"You," Tom said, absolutely sure of it.

"Uh-huh," Bill grunted, grabbing handfuls of sheet and straining back against Tom. "You, too, for me. We would have found each other no matter what, Tomi." He ground back against him with a desperate little groan.

Satisfied by this, Tom nodded. He took pity on Bill and seized him, one hand beneath his waist, the other on his thigh, and fucked into him until Bill came all over the sheets, screaming hoarsely. His own climax followed a beat after, with Bill squeezing the hell out of his cock.

Afterward, Tom sprawled out over Bill's back as his twin lay on his stomach. Tom rested his head in the dip between Bill's ass and the graceful upward-trending line of his spine while Bill retrieved messages from his mobile.

"Kerri, huh?" Tom said, remembering something Andreas had said. He ran his fingers over Bill's leg, up the curve of one buttock, skirting around the marks of cooling come.

"I never fucked her," Bill said automatically, used to Tom's territorial quirks by now.

"Good," Tom said. "I don't want to have to sit through another dinner with some misguided human making cow eyes at you again."

Bill sighed, still playing with his mobile. "I didn't think Jasmina was making cow eyes," he said.

"And she smelled like a cat in heat," Tom added spitefully. "When she asked if you'd 'escort' her to the restroom--"

"Oh, you heard that?" Bill said, sounding chagrined. "You'd gone off to get drinks, I thought...."

"Yes, I heard that," Tom growled. "If she'd said that while I was at the table, Bill, I swear I would have killed her. Or at least thrown her toward the fucking restroom. _Alone._ " He petted his hand over the crease of Bill's ass. His; no one else was getting in there. And no chicks were getting under Bill, either, so they ought to stop trying.

"What about those girls at the club?" Bill demanded, pushing up onto his elbows then flipping around to glare at Tom. "The ones that were hanging all over you today, panting. You want to talk about bitches in heat, they--"

"Didn't mean anything," Tom said. "Come on, I barely knew they were there. I certainly didn't ask either of them to--"

"Crawl in your lap," Bill snapped.

"Like Jasmina wasn't all over your lap, too," Tom flared, getting up onto his knees on the bed, towering over his twin. "And you don't exactly discourage it, Bill, even though they should know. My scent on you, my mark... Sometimes I could _kill_ \--"

“Bushido, Jasmina from two weeks ago, some random ogler on the street; that's really your answer to everything, isn't it?” Bill said, frowning. He pushed off from the bed and moved toward the bathroom.

“Don't give me that look,” Tom said, irked. He got up and followed. “It would be a permanent solution, you have to admit. And satisfying for me, at least. Once I started making examples and word got around, they'd keep their hands off you.”

Bill made an exasperated noise, peeled back the shower curtain, and Tom closed the distance, trapping his twin's hand against the wall. "Don't shower," Tom told him.

Bill's frown deepened. "I've got your come all up in—" he began, not looking angry so much as confused.

"So?" Tom challenged. "Wipe it off, but I don't want you to wash my scent off."

Bill rolled his eyes. "They're not Nephilim, Tom. They're not going to smell you on me and automatically back off because I smell like our sex."

"They'll smell something," Tom insisted. "Their senses can't possibly be that dull. And it's better than me killing them, right?"

Bill groaned, but he shrugged Tom off and snatched for a washcloth. He scrubbed at himself, glaring at Tom all the while, then tossed the used cloth back into the tub.

"As charming as it would be for you to line up the heads of my would-be suitors for an early Valentine's Day present, we do still live in the human world," Bill said crisply. He moved for the bathroom mirror, fussing with the pots and jars of his make-up that inhabited nine-tenths of the bathroom counter surface. "I don't know what else I can say to convince you. Indiscriminate killing is frowned on here in the human world; I'm sure you've noticed."

"Don't really care," Tom muttered. Human or demon lives; the only one that mattered to him was Bill's.

Bill's eyes flashed. "I suppose you'll go after Andi next, because he's got a crush on me?"

Tom snorted and leaned against the bathroom wall, crossing his arms. "Andi is not a threat to me." Besides, he added in his thoughts, Andreas had never come onto Bill the way he'd seen plenty of others try. He _had_ thrown a few persistent fuckers into walls during their first few weeks.

"Neither is Bushido," Bill snapped, his annoyance peaking. The eyeliner in his hand snapped in half and he threw the blunt end in the trash with an impatient toss. "Besides, I can take care of myself. As I've proved recently."

"He pisses me off," Tom said simply. "He doesn't respect my claim on you."

"He's just a dumb human," Bill said, and met Tom's eyes in the mirror. His wide mouth curved in a disbelieving grin. "Are you jealous? Is that it, Tomi? You're jealous of a big, dumb, dominant human male putting the moves on me?"

Tom hissed and pushed up and away from the wall, muscles tightening as though in preparation for a fight. He watched Bill's eyes roving over him with keen interest, then subsided with a growl; Bill was trying to provoke him. "Fuck off, Bill, you don't exactly stop him--"

"I don't like when he touches me," Bill said sharply, setting down a big, powdery brush. "I don't want him to. But we have to be _polite,_ Tomi, and I can't exactly kick him in the nuts and tell him to get his big, grimy mitts off me."

Tom shrugged, folding his arms again. They were at an impasse. He didn't want Bushido touching Bill, and Bill wasn't going to do anything to make him quit, so... "I'm on edge," he said at last. "Ever since you told me someone's trying to kill you..." Objectively, he knew that he wasn't supposed to kill anyone inside the Wall without serious justification, and yet today it seemed like the most simple and elegant of solutions.

"Do you think it's our father?" Bill asked abruptly, turning from the mirror. Tom's head swung up and Bill clarified unnecessarily as their eyes met in perfect understanding, "The one who's sending people to kill me. Could he be behind it?"

Tom said slowly, "If it's our father, then we'll be killing him sooner than I planned."

Bill grinned and shook his head, protesting, "I'm not ready for us to head a House yet, Tomi; I'm having too much fun here in New York."

Tom sighed. "So how do we make him understand you're off limits without killing him?"

"Well." Bill put a finger to his lower lip, considering. "First we figure out if he really is behind it."

"Like you have so many mortal enemies," Tom said ironically.

"You'd be surprised. Come on, go put some clothes on, I'm hungry."


	5. Chapter Five

"Good dinner," Bill said contentedly as they climbed out of the bus. He took Tom's hand once his twin reached the curb and they began to walk, fingers twined, along the stretch of sidewalk that led to the cross-street on the way home.

"Anything is, so long as we're not cooking it," Tom agreed with a small snort.

"Hey!" Bill said indignantly. "You said you liked my pasta."

"I do," Tom assured him. "But it's not like you learned to cook anything else, and there's only so many nights a week we should have rotini with your...whatever it is you put in there."

"A little of this, a little of that," Bill said nonchalantly. "I never had to _really_ learn to cook, Tom. Other people have always done it for me."

"Same here," Tom said with a faint grin. "So we'll have to keep making do with fast food and delivery, unless you want me setting the stove on fire."

Bill snickered and squeezed his brother's hand. "That suits me; I don't think I've ever turned it on. Although I have to admit, I was hoping for a bit more out of tonight's dinner, like a few apartment leads. But I'm glad Andi's friend turned out to be a lesbian."

"She was still making eyes at you," Tom averred.

"Come on, Tom! She's _gay!_ "

"Anyone would reverse their polarity for you, Bill."

Bill wasn't sure whether he should be flattered or concerned by that pronouncement. Instead he turned around, keeping a tight grip on Tom's hand and walking backward as Tom continued to walk toward him up the sidewalk. "Doesn't matter, Tomi," he asserted. "The only pants I'm interested in getting into involve stupid double-extra large sizes and sturdy belts. Though I wouldn't complain if I could convince you to wear smaller pants..." He wriggled his eyebrows at Tom.

Tom grinned back, his face lighting up in that particular and very specific look that Bill had only ever seen directed at _him._ He opened his mouth to respond, but before he did, Bill's gaze went over his brother's shoulder as a flash of movement caught his eye in the dark lee of an alleyway one block over. Tom was shoving him even as Bill moved, dropping to the pavement.

"Down, now!" Tom said belatedly, his voice hoarse as his weight pressed Bill beneath him against cracked concrete. Above them in the space where they'd stood, something whizzed through the air. "Sonuva--"

It had been a bullet or some other kind of projectile, and Bill's head swung automatically toward the trajectory from which it had come. There was something in that alleyway.

"Stay here," Tom told him, getting to his feet. 

Body heat radiated from that alley, and the caustic scent of fear reached Bill's nostrils.

"Fuck that," Bill replied disdainfully, already climbing up off the pavement as Tom made a beeline for the alley. "These jeans are expensive, you know! If the muck on the goddamned sidewalk hasn't already ruined them..."

He could hear Tom's brief curse as another projectile whizzed through the air. He dodged it, and the streaking glint was on a course for Bill, who stepped out of its path with equal ease. Bill hurried forward to back his twin up as Tom stood at the mouth of the alleyway.

"Get back!" Tom yelled as a cloud of silver pinpoints showered through the air. Tom dove forward, avoiding the unexpected volley.

Bill's eyes widened and he stepped to the side, but the alley was narrow and there wasn't enough room to avoid...whatever it was. The silver pinpoints expanded and Bill swatted at them, thinking that they looked like glitter and how was that supposed to hurt him, until he realized that there were fine filaments connecting each pinprick of silver to the other. A delicate filigree of silver net was settling around him, and Bill tried to thrash his way out of it as he understood at last.

"What the fuck--" he cried, gripping at a handful of filaments with the intent to rend the net apart. It held fast, stinging his palms with little jolts.

"Damn it, Bill," he heard Tom's disappointed groan. Tom was casting about the alley and ripping up dustbins, searching for the concealed assailant. The pungent odor of garbage rose up as he smashed trash-bins this way and that.

Bill bared his teeth and tried to rip the net apart again, but as the strands settled around him the whole thing seemed to be tightening in on him. "Oh, this is ridiculous," he declared.

There wasn't even a sound to presage the attack this time, but another gleaming projectile shot toward him. Bill's eyes widened and he stumbled to the side, barely missing it. The dart grazed his cheek and he shrieked with outrage as he heard and felt the rip of skin and a sticky trickle of warmth slipped down his cheek. Disbelieving, he clapped a hand to his face, then stared at his wet fingertips. He'd never been bled before.

"Bill!?" Tom yelled, panicked.

"Fucker clipped me!" Bill shouted back, struggling again with the net as rage surged through him. He grabbed it with both hands and exerted more effort than he'd ever plied on anything. The keen of distressed metal was his reward, and Bill was abruptly floating in a cloud of shredded silver filament. He shoved at it, batting it off him.

Bill's testimonial had been answered with a feral growl, and in seconds Tom had borne down on their attacker as a crouched figure straightened up from behind the partial obscuration of a collapsed dumpster and broke into a run, fleeing for the open, far side of the alleyway.

"I don't think so," Tom spat between his teeth, and he was on top of the weakly-struggling shadow figure. With a shove he sent it sprawling, and the person tipped onto his side with a cry, resolving in the partial light into a man, young by human standards but older than Bill and his twin. The man began to bring up a weapon and Tom swatted out, tearing it from the man's grip. There was a cracking noise and the man cried out, clutching at his wrist and trying to scoot back away from them.

"No, don't," the man pleaded. The scent of his terror rose up like heady smoke on the air, bitter and strong.

"Do you know this man?" Tom demanded.

Bill came up behind his brother, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at the unfamiliar man with a scowl. He was in his twenties, maybe; dressed casually with a mesh vest that looked like body armor protecting his torso.

"I don't," Bill said, glaring down at the unfamiliar face of his assailant, the fourth this week.

Tom's head angled to the side as Bill approached, and his nostrils flared. His breath hissed between his teeth before he said, "He wounded you."

"Barely," Bill said, waving a hand and stopping himself before he rubbed his bloody fingers on his jeans.

"Even a nick is too much," Tom snarled, reaching down to seize the man by the vest. He lifted him easily as a bundle of rags and slammed him up against the alley wall.

The man made a pained, pathetic noise and said again, "Don't!"

"Don't what?" Tom demanded. "Don't kill you? Like you were going to kill my brother?"

"I wasn't!" the man claimed. "You can't do this."

Tom's laugh was more growl. "You hurt my twin. You're fair game," he said simply.

Bill's eyes darted to the man's left side, where he had his hand pressed in his pocket. "Tom, he's got a hand on his mobile," he warned his twin. "Probably messaging for back-up."

Tom shook the man by his vest and slammed him into the wall, then reached into the man's pocket and ripped his mobile out, taking pieces of fabric along with it. The device splintered to pieces in one hand. "No one's coming to help you," Tom said. "Now, who sent you?" He grabbed the man by the neck this time and squeezed.

Bill sucked in a quick breath, about to warn his brother. "Tom--"

The neck cracked.

"Oops," Tom said, and cursed under his breath.

Bill looked over his brother's shoulder. "Good job," he said, noting the dull-eyed death stare and the stench of the unpleasant result of sphincter relaxation. "After heckling me for not leaving anyone alive to question, you did the same thing." He shuddered and turned away.

"I guess they don't make demon-bloods as sturdy as they used to," Tom said, chagrined. He let go of the body and it began to slump down along the wall.

"No, that one was mostly human," Bill said absently, the greater share of his concentration fixed on quickly wiping their trace and switching psychic signature to read back to his attacker. "I wonder why they sent _him._ "

“You're going to have to teach me how to do that,” Tom said, standing off to the side and folding his arms as he watched Bill.

“It's not hard,” Bill said with a shrug. “I'm sure if you watch me do it again you'll have it.”

Tom stepped right up into his space, surprising Bill as he turned. One hand lifted to cup Bill's cheek, rubbing over the drying blood on his skin. Even in the low light, Bill could see his twin's already-dilated eyes darken further. "But I don't want it to happen again," Tom said. He leaned in and licked Bill's cheek, cleaning the traces of blood from his skin.

Bill closed his eyes and grabbed at Tom's hips to steady himself.

Tom's tongue rasped over his cheek in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensual act jolted through Bill, settling low in his groin, and he pressed closer, mouth falling open as he began to pant softly. Tom's intense absorption sizzled through him.

When Tom was done lapping the blood from the already-healed tear, he trailed little kisses from there to Bill's mouth and pushed his tongue in. Tom shared the taste of Bill's blood – their blood – between them and his arms went around Bill hard, pulling their bodies roughly together.

Bill moaned against Tom's tongue. He'd never tasted blood before and the tang of it was sweet on Tom's lips. He liked the thought of Tom licking it off his skin, giving it back to him with a kiss, keeping it between them in that way. He nipped at Tom's lip, suddenly wanting to taste Tom's blood and see it if were ever so slightly different from his own, as Tom's scent was. Tom growled into his mouth and kissed him harder, thrusting his tongue against Bill's and stroking at the bed of his palate, pressing between his teeth and the barbell of Bill's tongue stud. Tom's kiss was rough and urgent, and promised things they really shouldn't do in an alley where a dead man lay not more than a meter from them.

Tom pulled away before Bill could voice the thought. He grabbed Bill's hand and inspected it, as though he'd scented the blood there, too, then brought it up to his mouth and licked at the tips of his fingers.

"Oh, gods fucking damn it, Tom," Bill whimpered, and the stirring at his groin hardened into an undeniable erection.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here before the cops show up," Tom said, pulling away from him and giving Bill a wickedly teasing smirk. "And in case you were still wondering, that definitely answered it, lover – you're a hard target for sure."

"Like that was in any doubt," Bill said sarcastically.

Tom grinned at him, seized his hand, and guided him out of the alley and up the street.

Bill scooped up his bag from the pavement in passing and draped it into the crook of his arm. He winced and pressed a palm against his cock where it was straining hopefully against the front of his jeans. He could still taste blood on his tongue, and the scent of Tom's arousal was thick in his nostrils. Tom's fingers gripped his like iron as he urged them up the sidewalk at a swift, ground-eating stride.

"Tom," Bill protested, as one of his bootheels caught on a fault line in the cracked sidewalk.

"Gotta get home fast," Tom said under his breath, almost as though he were speaking to himself but Bill knew that every word was meant for him. "Gotta get in you, Bill; right this fucking minute wouldn't be soon enough."

"We could do it now," Bill said, breathless. He knew that his rule regarding no sex in public places was the only thing holding Tom back from having him on the spot. Tom's desire was sizzling through him, supercharging his own lust, and he didn't want to wait another footfall's worth, let alone several city blocks.

Tom turned to him with glittering dark eyes. "Don't you fucking tease me, Bill; not about this." His fingers tightened around Bill's in a crushing grip.

"I'm not--" Bill began, and never finished his sentence, because a searing bolt of energy pierced the dimness of the street. For the second time Bill was shoved sprawling to the pavement. The charge crackled through the air over their heads with enough power that Bill's near-impervious skin registered the heat of its passage.

"Fuck!" Tom yelled, head whipping around as he crouched protectively over Bill. "I'm gonna--"

Tom didn't get to finish his sentence, either. A hail of staccato thumps penetrated the silence of the deserted street. Bill's eyes widened as a volley of cluster bombs rolled into his line of sight. He began to push himself onto his hands and knees and a hand was tightening on his shoulder when the world blew up in his face in a fire-blossom burst of sound and fury.

Bill was tumbling through the air. He grasped for Tom, panicking when he found that the grip on his shoulder was gone, while the remainder of his conscious mind absorbed the fact that they were - he was - still under attack. This time the heavy guns had been brought to bear. Bill revolved mid-air, twisting himself to align his feet with the pull of gravity.

He impacted a building, slamming against it with his right shoulder, and grunted as he dropped to the ground feet first. He opened his mouth to yell, _Tom,_ realized it would give up his location to someone who was trying to kill him, and stayed silent. He brushed his hands down his front. His clothes were in tatters. His hide was intact and he was unbloodied; whatever the earlier dart had been composed of must have been special material to be able to pierce his cheek. He'd never been in an explosion before, but it had done more damage to his clothes than it had to his body.

"Limpdick motherfucker is so dead," Bill subvocalized, surveying the ruin of his clothes. He pressed himself flat against the building and cast about for his twin.

Now that they had met in person as mature Nephilim, made love and bound themselves to each other in every way, the twins could never lose one another again. Like a magnetic filing shivering toward north, Bill swung around and instinctively faced the direction where he knew he'd find Tom.

In the distance there was another explosion, then a hoarse shout. _Tom!_ Bill's mind yelled, and he broke from the side of the building to seek out his twin when it occurred to him to check for traps. More clusterbombs, a net...anything was possible.

He froze in place as the quietest of footfalls reached his ears.

Bill lunged forward, throwing himself toward the still-smoking crater left behind by the shockwave of cluster bombs, but his opponent was fast – amazingly fast to Bill, who had grown complacent with human reflexes. Something glittered in the air before his eyes; a thin thread that snapped taut around his neck. Bill's hands automatically went up to his neck as the wire went rigid against his windpipe, beginning to cut off his air.

He was hauled backward into the shadow of the building that he'd hit earlier. As Bill began to try and claw his way free, his assailant drew the wire around his neck ever tighter. It bit into his neck and stung; wet warmth seeped through his fingers. Bill's eyes widened. The wire was bespelled - it had to be, to cut Nephilim skin with only this much pressure.

"I was going to take you in, as ordered," a ragged voice said behind Bill's ear. "But after killing my partner and with that other one running loose, fuck the money. I'll kill you quickly and leave your corpse for him to find."

Bill opened his mouth to shriek his rising fury, and choked instead. He kicked out behind him and his assailant evaded him, looping the wire tighter. Bill twisted and flailed and a grim chuckle was the only response as the pressure increased and his skin parted. The man was trying to take his head off with the spelled wire.

A shape hurtled out of the dim smoke-riddled air of the street that was blurring to vague outlines before Bill's eyes. The wire at Bill's throat loosened as Tom appeared, delivering a kick to Bill's assailant that knocked one hand free of its grip on the wire. Bill acted fast, dropping to the pavement again and lashing out with one leg to try and sweep his opponent. The man stumbled back to avoid Bill's sweep, and Tom hit him at chest height.

Tom's momentum carried him forward and he drove his opponent several steps back until they crashed into the side of a building. Crouched where Bill was, he could see the matte shape of a gun being brought up. He began to rattle out a hoarse warning, then the deafening burst of gunfire went off. Tom's body jolted with each impact, three quick shots fired, then there was a sickening wet thunk.

"Tom!" Bill screamed, stumbling toward the locked combatants, looking for something he could use as a weapon.

Tom slumped over their opponent, who was sliding down the wall of the building. The man stared sightlessly over Tom's shoulder at Bill, head flopping to the side as Tom pushed off him and stood. He turned, eyes seeking Bill's at once. Tom was alive and more or less whole; the ends of his dreadlocks were smoldering, his lip-ring had been torn out and a trickle of blood adorned the lower left corner of his mouth, and his shirt was in shreds around his sleekly muscled upper torso. There were red marks on his chest from the impact of the gunshots.

"You all right?" Tom demanded, hurrying for him, getting an arm around him as Bill got to his feet.

"Fine," Bill croaked impatiently, running a hand over bare flesh and the warmth of his twin's gun-blasted skin, which was resonantly hot to the touch.

It had all been so fast, too fucking fast. That second assailant must have been part Nephilim, with his skills concentrated on reflexes that had put him on par with Bill and Tom's own. Perhaps there was something to Tom's continual urgings that they train together, because Bill had been pretty fucking useless this time.

"Switch the trace," Tom said, cupping Bill's face between his hands and looking him over with a searching gaze.

"Oh," Bill recalled, sucking in a breath and frowning. He reached out for the psychic feel of the dead man. There was still enough lingering presence to make the connection. He swept mental fingers over the area, erasing the psychic impressions that he and Tom had left in the wake of their passage, and tied the spell to the last fading echo of the dead man's spark. He looked into Tom's eyes with a frown.

"Neatly done," Tom complimented.

Bill shook his head. "It might not take," he fretted. "That one didn't have much psychic power."

"Don't worry so much, it was self defense. Clearly," Tom told him, his eyes roving up and down Bill. "You're all right."

Bill nodded, wincing as the movement tugged at healing flesh and sent a bead of blood coursing down his neck. Tom groaned and ducked in as though he couldn't help himself. He licked at the hot, fresh blood on Bill's neck until he was nosing at Bill's jawline. Then he licked around the ring of irritated flesh where the wire had parted it only moments before.

"T-Tom," Bill panted, shivering as his twin licked and sucked at his neck again. Now that the danger was averted, desire was thrilling vibrancy through his veins again and he was all too easily immersed in the demand of Tom's insistently-licking tongue and the hands sliding low over his waist.

Tom pulled back enough for them to lock eyes again. His crimson pupils were flared wide, narrowing the honey brown of the irises to thin circles of color. "Mine," Tom declared, and moved forward, bumping their noses as he pressed in for a kiss.

Bill gasped as he latched onto Tom's lower lip. He sucked at the split, breaking open healing flesh and lapping at the fresh blood that coursed into his mouth. They both groaned and sealed their lips together, sharing the mingling taste of their blood and straining closer. Tom's blood was delicious on his tongue, sweeter than any candy or energy drink he'd ever savored, more complex than the bouquet of the most expensive wine. They chased tongues back and forth, both of them emitting urgent little noises, until only the ghost taste of blood remained. Tom pulled free of Bill's mouth with apparent effort and moved to lick his neck again.

"No," Bill said, though his traitorous hands spoke a different urging, rubbing at Tom's back to vainly try to pull him closer.

"No?" The word was transformed to an incredulous growl in Tom's mouth.

"We have to get out of here," Bill insisted. "After that explosion, someone has to be on the way."

Tom scowled, but he was already nodding. "Right, let's go." He kept an unbreakable grip on Bill's hand as they moved forward.

"Wait, my bag!"

Incredibly, Bill's handbag had been flung some twenty meters from the site of the blast and remained intact. He grabbed it, tested the mobile within and found it in working order, then set off at a sprinting pace hand in hand with his twin.

Five blocks over, they crashed into an alleyway as Tom hauled on his hand, dragging him into the shadows that were the palest silvery-grey to Bill's eyes but deep enough to hide them from just about anyone else.

"Bill," Tom got out, turning his name into an animal moan, "I need you, I have to..."

"I know," Bill interrupted, reaching up to ring his arms around Tom's neck. He rubbed against him, bringing their mouths into alignment. Tom crowded him up against the brick of the building behind them, cleaving Bill's lips with his tongue and licking at the insides of his mouth again.

Bill moaned encouragement, lifting one leg and hooking it over his brother's hip. As Tom pressed shallow kisses to his face, Bill chanted, "Do it, I need it, do it, need you in me so bad," and writhed against Tom's body until the bulge of his needy cock was pressed to Bill's. He rolled his hips and Tom gasped against his mouth.

"Fuck, Bill," Tom said, sounding both dazed and impatient. He licked across Bill's lips and pushed his tongue in again.

Bill was lit up, he was scorching inside, he was so horny he was ready to climb Tom like a tree to get what he wanted. "Get your cock out and put it _in_ me," he growled, ripping the tatters of Tom's shirt off his golden-skinned shoulders. He reached down and gripped the still-intact belt buckle that was keeping Tom's ragged jeans up around his trim hips.

"Fuck," Tom repeated, his breath speeding up. He lunged forward to place another sloppy kiss on Bill's mouth then he fumbled in his pocket.

Bill's breath was choppy and fast, too. "Me," he added urgently to the end of Tom's expostulation. "Now." He undid his own belt and stroked a hand up his torso, whimpering as he watched Tom's eyes glint dark and avid as he touched himself. He pushed a hand into his underwear and gripped his cock, unsurprised to find wetness at the tip. He smeared it with his thumb, spreading pre-come over the head and beginning to wank the foreskin up and down, and cried out at his own touch and the flare in Tom's eyes.

Tom shoved him back against the brick again, pinning Bill to the wall and beginning to hump his leg.

"Tom, Tom," Bill moaned against his twin's neck. "In me, not _on_ me!" Nevertheless his hips drove up, madly striving against the friction Tom was giving him. He brought his hand up out of his pants and dragged his damp fingertips over Tom's upper lip. Tom quivered against him and went still for a fraction of a second, then drew back to gaze darkly at Bill.

Tom was beyond words now, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent Bill had smeared over his skin. His eyes were devoid of reason and they informed Bill in no uncertain terms that Bill was his, and Tom was going to take him up against the wall.

"Do it," Bill urged, an excited sob of a breath catching in his throat. He reached into Tom's pants, pushing into his boxers and past the trailing curls of hair to grip Tom's swelling erection.

Tom nodded, his dreadlocks brushing over Bill's collarbones where the shirt had been blown right off him. Bill nipped at his twin's lower lip as Tom's face came back into range. He worried at the newly-healed flesh, found it sound and whole, and sucked it into his mouth as Tom growled, pressing hard against him. He worked Tom's cock in his hand, hitching closer with the leverage of his leg around Tom's waist, and getting Tom's cock cleared of pants and boxers so that they could rub up against one another.

"How do you want me?" Bill breathed against Tom's mouth once they resurfaced from another ravenous kiss.

Tom pulled back, disengaging Bill's leg from where he'd hooked it, and pulled away to make just enough room to flip Bill around until he was facing the wall.

"Yes, yes," Bill chanted, pushing his ass back and tilting his hips to give Tom ready access. He cried out and dropped his head, bracing himself against the wall as Tom tugged the remnants of his destroyed vintage jeans down below the curves of his butt and spread him with his knuckles, delving into him with two lube-coated fingers. "Ah, ahh!" He wriggled on Tom's searching fingers and moaned when his twin curled them, seeking then finding Bill's spot and petting over it insistently with devastating strokes of his fingers.

"Fuck me," Bill ordered, spanning his hands wide over the brickwork in front of him. He looked over his shoulder and met Tom's hot eyes, irises gleaming at him in the low light, gone with lust.

Tom didn't even nod this time. There was a sloppy squelch as the lube was wrung dry, then Tom was guiding his rigid dick into Bill's crack, panting hard against the back of his neck. He worked the tip in and Bill held still, thighs trembling, as Tom's arms went around him, one hand pressing flat to Bill's belly, the other gripping the star of his hip tattoo. Tom sank his cock into Bill, sliding past the initial clench of resistance as they groaned in unison.

"I can feel it," Bill whispered, turning his face into the stir of Tom's ragged exhalations. "You're in me, Tomi, and you feel so good. Push it deeper." Tom throbbed inside of him, filling him up like a second, insistent pulse in his vitals.

Tom moaned low and guttural against Bill's ear, flexing and sinking his cock further in until Bill jolted forward because it couldn't go in any more. Tom's hips kissed Bill's butt and pressed there in small urgent circles.

"Tom!" Bill cried out, demanding and voicing his pleasure at the same time. He braced himself against the wall, shoved back against his delicious impalement, and deliberately clenched around the girth stretching him wide.

With a sound that was half snarl, half moan, Tom withdrew his hard cock, slithering most of the way from where it had been fully seated, and slammed back into Bill. Bill cried out and bucked against him, making Tom swear something throaty and indistinct and seize him firmly by the waist with both hands.

Bill tossed his head back to get sweaty hair out of his face and pushed against Tom's rolling thrusts as they fell into a frantic rhythm. Tom was fucking into him with ragged abandon and Bill loved it.

"Harder," Bill moaned. "Harder, Tomi, make me feel it." He squeezed down on Tom's cock in his ass and gasped as Tom did it, shoving into him until his hips smacked Bill's bottom, then pumping deep and deeper. Bill panted, breathless with delight, and tried to lift his head up.

Brickwork was crumbling before his eyes. Bill scrabbled for a secure hold and Tom thrust into him powerfully, making him yelp and tear out more brick. "Tom..." Tom was plowing into him with long sloppy strokes, hunched over Bill's back as he pursued their climax with ferocious single-mindedness. Tom was fucking him into the wall.

"Hope no one lives here," Bill mumbled, and dug around in the increasing cascade of brick dust for something resembling a support beam. He groaned and Tom grunted as they sped up, bodies slapping moistly together.

"Bill," Tom groaned as he plowed into Bill, fucking him for all he was worth. It was the first intelligible word he'd uttered in a while.

"Tom, Tom," Bill responded, the sound ripping out from the core of him as Tom gave him deep thrusts again, base to tip, and Bill struggled to brace himself against the wall. "Mm, more, give me more!"

Behind him Tom went, "Ahh, ahh," as he steadily pumped Bill full of his cock.

Bill reached for his cock, desperate to tumble over the edge that Tom had driven him onto. His climax was so close, coiling tight within him and making him shiver as Tom gripped his waist hard enough to bruise and pounded into him, his ragged strokes riding Bill's prostate better than half the time. Tom smacked his hand away as Bill's searching fingers brushed over his hard cock. Before Bill could protest, calloused fingers took him in a sweaty, rough grip and worked him over, pulling him in counter-rhythm to his thrusts.

It was almost, it was too much, it was just enough. Bill stiffened and raked his hands through yielding brick wall as he arched his back, shoving himself onto Tom with a husky cry. He closed his eyes as his cock twitched in Tom's sure grip and spilled come over the fingers that continued to tease and work his sensitive flesh. Bill braced himself again, dropping his sweaty forehead against one arm and moaning as Tom shoved him against and into the wall.

With a strangled, satisfied cry, Tom shot his load deep inside Bill.

"Tomi," Bill said, hating how weak his voice sounded but he was concentrated on the hot spill of Tom's come inside of him and it was so good he wanted to rub up against Tom and keep going, do it again until they were both exhausted.

"Mm," Tom mumbled, mouthing the back of Bill's neck, nuzzling hair aside then biting him hard enough to leave a mark.

"Tomi," Bill said, a little louder, rousing from his sex-induced daze to a semblance of reason. "You came _in_ me."

"Uh, yeah," Tom confirmed, sounding proud of himself.

"Why did you come _in_ me?" Bill growled. "It's not like we're home."

Tom groaned and slumped over Bill's back, hugging him around the waist before pulling out. They both shivered and Bill tilted his ass up, getting increasingly pissed as a trickle of still-warm come ran down his crease.

"Wasn't thinking, I guess," Tom admitted. "Where would you rather I'd come – in you, or on your ass?"

"Marking your territory again?" Bill asked sardonically. He pushed his bare bottom toward Tom. "Clean it."

"Bill..." Tom trailed off doubtfully. "If I lick you out, we're going to end up in the same situation that got you dirty in the first place. I'm gonna...hells. Even looking at you..." He groaned and stroked his fingers along the cleft of Bill's ass.

"Tom," Bill said sharply. "Focus."

Tom's answering groan was more than a little frustrated.

"C'mon, Tomi," Bill said. "We just did it. We can do it again when we get home, okay? Cops or city defense corps, remember? And I'm not going to pull up my underwear with your come still all...in me. It'll get squishy, I'll squelch every step of the way home; it's gross." His tone was perilously close to a whine, Bill knew, but he needed to make his point.

"Fine," Tom muttered, sounding calculating. His fingers were poised at Bill's hole.

"Don't," Bill snapped, when the tip of Tom's middle finger came close to breaching him.

“Why don't I call us a cab and fuck you again while we wait for it to get here?”

“That's smart, Tom, then we have a record of our presence in the area,” Bill said, turning his head to slant a sarcastic brow in Tom's direction. “C'mon, don't make a big deal of it, clean it and we'll go.”

With one last reluctant groan, Tom pulled away from him. Bill craned his head over his shoulder again in time to see Tom pulling off his charred beanie and swipe it down below Bill's balls, trailing up to clean his come.

"Gross!" Bill squalled, and tried to shift away but Tom gripped him by one hip and mopped up everything he'd spilled. "Ahh..." By the time he was done, Bill could see Tom's point; Tom hadn't even used his tongue and Bill was turned on again, ready for round two.

"Let's go home," Tom suggested, grabbing at Bill's handbag and passing it over.

Bill rolled his eyes. "Kali's _shriveled_ tits," he swore. "We're not any closer to finding a new apartment, after all that."

"Good to see you've got your priorities sorted, Bill."

"Fuck you; a place to live is on the hierarchy of needs even for demons, Tom," Bill replied equably. "We did learn one thing, though."

"Oh?"

"The second one, when he was trying to kill me, he said his orders were to take me in."

Their eyes met.

"Whoever it is wants you alive," Tom stated, an uneasy look crossing his face.

"Fuck," Bill summarized, the pit of his own stomach echoing Tom's discomfort. The piece of news that he was wanted as a soft target and not a dead one didn't reassure him one bit.


	6. Chapter Six

Detective Randall was in the process of juggling the competing priorities of a forensic team frantic to preserve the evidence of a sprawling three-block violent crime scene, the local fire suppression squad trying to extinguish a blaze started up by cluster bombs in the middle of said scene, and the local police deciding to rouse from the nearby bunker of their station for a change of pace to try to participate in crime-solving. As Randall attempted to secure the scene with his men and a border of distinctive Paranormal Division sealant tape, a familiar tall, broad-shouldered figure began to stride through the swirl of smoke that blew in tapering-off plumes through the street.

In short, Randall was already having a bad night. Now he was watching it get worse.

Randall groaned and scratched at one ear with his stylus. "To what honor to I owe _you_ putting in an appearance, Pierce? Shouldn't you be out patrolling a Wall somewhere?"

The approaching figure resolved into dark-haired, handsome Cal Pierce. His clean-cut face was attentive, so dismayingly normal, that even the body armor uniform and the blazon of the Wall and City Defense Corps on his upper left breast weren't much of an indicator for the man's deadly potential.

Randall, who had been close enough in past encounters to get a good look into the man's red-pupiled eyes, had a pretty good idea of what he was capable. Not to mention, he had seen the aftereffects of Pierce's fist coming into contact with a few walls.

"Only when they need a heavy hitter," Pierce returned calmly, almost apologetically. He drew even with Randall. "An anonymous tip made it clear that my presence on your scene might be needed."

Randall gave Pierce a short, incredulous glance. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded. If someone had tipped Pierce off that he was needed on this particular scene, then it had entered the heavyweight league. Randall didn't know Cal Pierce's exact percentage of demon ancestry, but he knew that it was high. The man was second in command for the Wall and City Defense Corps, and was typically seen on the front lines of battle whenever there was a serious-level alert or Wall breach.

Pierce merely shrugged in response, his dark eyes roving past Randall to check the street.

"Well, I don't know what good you can expect to do at this point," Randall said with a soft, disbelieving snort. That was just what he needed, called to a murder scene in the middle of the night and still struggling to secure the scene as his people, fire suppression, and local cops battled it out for jurisdictional priority. Now the Wall and City Defense Corps wanted a piece, and Randall was not a betting man, but pegging someone over at Orion Corporation as the 'anonymous tip' wasn't so much of a bet as it was a sure thing.

"Mind if I have a look around, anyhow?" Pierce requested, all politeness, alert eyes roving over Randall's shoulder. He was entirely too normal, good-looking but ordinary, to be engaged in the kind of work Randall knew him for, but appearances were deceptive. Especially in this particular case.

Randall gestured one splayed hand, keeping hold of his temper. "Don't interrupt the forensics team, or they'll chew me out for letting you."

Cal's head inclined in a brief nod. He put his hands behind his back as though to display the fact that he came in good faith, and turned to stride right for the heart of the blast origin as though he didn't feel the heat of it. Of course, considering what he was, Randall reminded himself, Cal probably didn't. Couldn't.

Marina Whitbeck appeared by Randall's elbow, her pretty face creased in a frown as she gazed after Pierce's departing back. "Isn't that...?"

"Yes," Randall said sourly. Another meddling finger in the pot of his crime scene. "Cal Pierce, XO of the vaunted Corps, has showed up for a little personal tour."

"The local cops are clearing out," Whitbeck informed him.

"Did they get the bribe they were holding out for?" Randall inquired facetiously.

Whitbeck's frown deepened. "Don't joke," she muttered. "I think these ones are actually on the take. Why do you think crime is so bad in this neighborhood to begin with?"

Randall grunted. "Not really my problem," he demurred. There was a reason he'd gotten himself transferred to the Paranormal Crimes division shortly after establishing himself as a solid detective. There were politics in his job; there were at any job, he supposed, but they were a hundred times worse at the city police level. Neighborhoods like this one had to contend with organized crime in addition to corrupt policemen, and Randall was glad he lived on a different city ring. When four-fifths of humanity had been wiped out, it baffled him that there were still people all too willing to commit crimes against their own.

"You came to see me for a reason?" he prompted at last.

"Oh," Whitbeck said, expression clearing. "Right. Well, the first body is the same as the others; scene wiped clean of trace, and the scrub reads as though the dead man did it."

"That's a nasty little trick I don't want to see showing up elsewhere on the streets," Randall said flatly.

Whitbeck shrugged, crossing her arms. "Shall I continue? There _is_ more, this time."

"Please do," Randall said, gesturing to his smoking crime scene with his stylus. The street was taped off, now, and it looked as though the fire suppression squad was getting the blaze somewhat tamed, if not completely under control. There had been a brief spat between the squad and forensics over what techniques to use in order to avoid erasing evidence. Pierce was strolling near the alleyway where the second body had been found, the one with the punched sternum. That one had been hit hard enough to go into instant cardiac arrest; something Randall hadn't known was possible until the coroner had told him that fact tonight.

"The second one...the scrub wasn't seamless, not like the others," Whitbeck said, her flawless brow creasing again. "I still don't have much, though. The impression I get is male, and high Nephilim blood. Nothing helpful. The death still reads as self-defense, though it looks like a savage attack. Whoever your dead men are, they were trying to kill the ones that got away."

"The 'ones?'" Randall prompted, alert to the slightest nuance. Whitbeck was psychic, to the point where sometimes she didn't realize something that she had intuited was a clue to more.

Whitbeck met his eyes, her lips parting in surprise. "Yes. I get an impression of...two?" she said doubtfully. "But it's like an echo, there's a sameness." She stared off into the distance, then shook her head.

"There were two...victims?" Randall had to choke the word out, knowing that Nephilim blood was in play with this series of deaths. He was inclined to think there were no innocents where those of Nephilim ancestry were involved.

"Yes. No...I, I'm not sure," Whitbeck said, looking suddenly confused. "The reading I get from the scene feels doubled, but I don't...I can't say for sure. There's too much contamination."

Randall growled and stuck his stylus back into his portable, shoving it into his pocket. "Get that report of yours filed before you go home," he ordered. He was still waiting for lab results on the other scenes, but he was virtually certain there would be no helpful trace evidence this time, either. The other scenes had come up dry. Now that he was quite sure the person who had committed the...self-defensive kills...was Nephilim-blood, that explained a lot. They were far less likely than humans to shed dead cells, and didn't often incur defensive wounds like scratches that would leave evidence under the deceased's fingernails.

"Detective," Pierce called from further up the street.

"What is it, Pierce?" Randall called, jogging to meet him. Pierce was standing near the forensic team that was hunched over the body in the alleyway, but his attention wasn't turned on them.

As Randall drew closer to the taller man, he noticed that Pierce's nostrils were flared and his dark eyes had dilated wide.

"Blood," Pierce said curtly.

Randall glanced down. There was a dark droplet of indeterminate substance on the sidewalk near the toe of Pierce's boot. "How did you..." he started, and cut himself off. "Never mind. It's probably the dead man's."

"No," Pierce disagreed. "He wasn't bleeding when he died."

Randall began to shake his head, deciding that he really didn't want to know. "All right. Thank you, this could be a key piece of evidence."

"I'm going to stick around until all of your people are gone," Pierce decided, clasping his hands in front of him as though he were at parade rest. "It's not likely that they'll return, but it's best to be sure."

"'They?'" Randall prompted, pleased in a rather perverse sort of way that the XO's instincts confirmed that of his para-forensic psychic.

"There are two distinct scents," Pierce said. His brow furrowed. "They're very similar. I want to say, related? But closer. Almost the same person." His frown vanished as though it had been wiped clean and he eyed Randall expectantly.

"That's...something," Randall said, slowly. "You'd be willing to testify to that effect? Should it become necessary, I mean." Siblings, he was thinking. Had to be.

Pierce's dark brows climbed upward. "I don't think you'll need to worry about a trial, Detective," Pierce said, with a sunny assurance that Randall found disconcerting. "Even if whoever did this gets caught, they're probably untouchable. Orion, or..." He let that trail off suggestively.

Randall stuck his hands into his pockets and scowled back. That was the sort of politicking that made him hate his job, some nights. The worst bit was that Pierce was almost certainly right.

"You," Randall said, pointing to one of the nearby forensic techs. "Make sure to collect this drop of blood, here."

He was going to do his job to the best of his ability, anyhow. There was always the off chance he was pursuing a real crime.

***

Tom petted his twin's straightened black hair, smoothing the lighter streaks into the dark, thick mass. Bill purred under his touch and snuggled deeper into his pillow, mouth pursing and his brows gathering, reacting to Tom even as he drifted into sleep. Tom's lips twitched upward in response and he stroked Bill's sleek skin for a moment longer, letting his fingers linger over his brother's shoulder and rubbing there soothingly. He could tell that was where Bill had hit the building, even though there wasn't a mark to mar his beautiful skin.

It had to stop.

Tom gathered himself and rose from their bed, grabbing a pair of shorts in passing and shrugging into one of his large shirts. He checked one last time to make sure that Bill slept soundly, then he sauntered over to the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him. It was an unusual move – there were no closed doors between the two of them – but for this, Tom didn't particularly want to be disturbed. He ran the hot water in the sink, turning the faucet all the way up.

He surveyed his reflection in the long, wide bathroom mirror for a moment, expressionless. If he quirked the corner of his lip and lowered his chin, just so, he could see Bill in his features, make-up free and beautiful. Tom had never thought of himself as beautiful rather than gorgeous until he'd seen his twin in person for the first time.

Bill was the reminder and reason he was doing this, so with another glance for the closed door, he set a thumbnail against his broad palm and drew it down, pressing in hard enough until he cut a drop of blood free from his tough skin. It oozed out reluctantly, skin closing up quickly afterward, but it was enough. Steam from the gushing water had begun to cloud over the surface of the mirror. Tom wiped a swathe of it aside with his right hand, pressing his other palm against the mirror and smearing it over the foggy glass.

It had been a very long time since Tom had performed the spell, but the cadences came back to him easily. He thought of his magic-arts tutor, still back at the House Kaulitz as part of the life he'd left behind, and finished the sonorous chant as he fixed an image in his mind.

"David Jost," he uttered quietly, completing the spell. He removed his hand from the mirror, watching avidly as the smear of blood began to smolder a darker red, as though igniting.

The mirror rippled outward from the bloodstain as though it were a sheet of water disturbed by the bounce of a single droplet.

Tensely, Tom watched as indistinct images began to sift across the surface of the mirror, hazy and near-formless like the dark vague shapes of dreams. It was a risky spell and he held his thumb upraised, ready to wipe the blood and end the spell at a second's notice as he watched a slideshow of shapes and shadows from his father's House. The places that flitted across the surface of his and Bill's mirror belonged to another place, very far from here, and each fragment was a reflection. As a dark-haired figure began to resolve, Tom watched for any sign that the seneschal was attending to someone else, or was anything beyond completely alone.

Satisfied at last that Jost was by himself, Tom leaned back from the mirror and crossed his arms over his chest as the man who managed his father's affairs came into focus sharp and clear. He waited for a moment, brow raised. If Jost's Nephilim blood were any greater than his one-sixteenth, or whatever it was, he would have sensed Tom's spell by now and turned. Instead, he continued to shuffle papers. At least he managed Jorg's affairs capably.

At last he turned, facing the nearby reflective surface, and Tom cocked his head.

"Gods above and below!" Jost shouted, catching sight of Tom and leaping back. A sheaf of paper left his loosened grasp and fanned out through the air. "T-Tom?"

"In the spirit," Tom said ironically, inclining his chin in the barest of acknowledgements. He owed Jost a debt, however slight, for giving up the information that had spurred Tom from House Kaulitz to pursue his twin. "If not the flesh."

Jost's eyes widened. "I can't be seen talking to you," Jost hissed, head turning as he checked over his shoulder. "He'll have me killed. Why have you contacted me?"

"Is it you behind the attacks?" Tom asked, hardening his expression. "Or my father?" He had to find out if House Kaulitz was behind the attacks on Bill. If so, that freed him up considerably in terms of the methods he could employ against their enemies. Of course, he couldn't outright ask if they were attacking _Bill_ ; hence the cryptic phrasing.

"Is...what?" Jost faltered. "What's going on, Tom?" He glanced to one side, then the other. From the clues in half-formed features of the room around him, he was in one of the open workshops on one of the lower levels of the House. It was entirely possible their conversation could be interrupted, so Tom kept himself ready to terminate the spell at a second's notice.

Jost bent closer to the mirror. "There's been no word of you since you disappeared on the night of your sixteenth birthday. He sent out men, but it seems you were always one step ahead."

Tom smiled faintly. He didn't have the full range of cues that he'd have if he was in person, such as scent, but Jost's body language was incapable of lying to him. "You aren't behind it," he said, dismissing Jost, and by extension, his father, as the immediate threat to his twin.

"Did you find your brother?" Jost asked him with every appearance of solicitousness.

Tom scoffed. "You ought to know me better, Jost. Asking a question like that, when the answer could compromise us both."

Jost lowered his dark head, then sighed as he lifted it again, throwing his shoulders back. "You seem...happy, Tom. That's all. That's why I asked," he said. He raised one hand to rub at the rasp of stubble on his chin. "Barely a few words out of you, yet this is the happiest, the most complete, I've ever seen you. It's a good thing."

Tom looked at his father's seneschal impassively, unsure how to take that. Every last player in his father's world was a potential enemy, and yet Jost had always been beyond scrupulous in attending to all of Tom's needs for as long as Tom could recall. Of course, he had to, as the House Kaulitz seneschal, and yet...Jost had been raised in the human world. Like Bill, perhaps some of those values had rubbed off. Was Jost trying to be sentimental? Tom couldn't be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Only tell me you're all right," Jost persisted, straining his neck as though attempting to look past Tom, when he should have known the spell didn't work that way. It was a person-to-person conjuring, in essence. "Whether you've found him or not."

Tom regarded him a moment longer, then dipped his head in a slight nod. "Everything is...perfect," he said quietly, unable to resist. It was ambiguous enough, he thought, that someone like his father would miss the import. Someone like Tom's father, a single entity, unmated and untwinned, could never understand.

Jost's eyes glinted and he appeared relieved. "That's good. Are you coming back?"

"Not at this time," Tom said loftily, and it sank in right then that he would almost certainly never see Jost again. He and Bill had chosen to stay in New York for a human lifetime, after all, and there was no telling how Jost would live – or even how old he was already – given the amount of human dilution in his blood.

"But...House Kaulitz..." Jost faltered.

"I'm still the heir," Tom said coldly, biting his tongue before he could add, _we're both the heirs_ as he'd assured Bill. "If he tries to get another, he'll hasten my return only in that I'd need to come back long enough to dispose of it."

"That's...very Nephilim of you," Jost said with a wince.

"Am I not?" Tom replied, shifting his stance somewhat and raising a brow.

Jost shrugged and averted his gaze. "Your father was very angry," he said in a low voice, casting another appraisal on his surroundings to check for potential interruptions.

Tom all but laughed. He could imagine Jorg's anger, and it concerned him not a bit. "I'm sure he's enraged to this day." With his heir's whereabouts unaccounted for, Jorg could neither officially replace Tom, nor relax his vigilance whilst Tom was out potentially wreaking havoc – such as finding the twin Jorg had sought to keep from him. Tom's eyes narrowed and he stared at Jost with intense scrutiny. "Does he know?"

Here was another crucial moment. Would Jost hedge or attempt to lie to him? Had the seneschal held back information from Jorg out of whatever sentiment had imprinted from his human nature – or, more likely, out of self-preservation instincts, given that Jorg would have his mind torn asunder to find what little he knew of Tom's departure.

Jost met Tom's eyes without flinching. "He knew well enough the reason for your departure," he said. "You never made it much of a secret, that you would look for...him...some day." That last was accompanied by another furtive shoulder-check as though he expected the walls themselves to grow ears and betray him.

Tom shrugged. "But you told him nothing," he pressed, leaning forward to rake over Jost with his gaze.

"He was drunk and recalled very little of the evening of your coming of age feast," Jost related. "I, like many others, admitted to having spoken to you that evening but said nothing more." He radiated sincerity.

Tom wanted to believe there was no lie.

"Where are you?" Jost asked directly at last, eyes on Tom's in the mirror. There was a stillness to him, not quite tension.

Tom snorted derisively. "Nice try, Jost." He passed his hand over his side of the mirror, wiping off the smear of blood and disengaging the connection. He'd gotten the information that he needed out of that conversation, and prolonged it longer than necessary...why?

Bill must be rubbing off on him, he decided; and for once he didn't take that in the naughty direction. Aside from their father, Tom had known Jost for longer than any other person in his life. It hadn't cost him anything to answer Jost's few innocuous questions, and the man seemed genuinely concerned for Tom's well-being.

With the bloodstain cleared from the mirror's surface, there was no evidence remaining of the spell that he'd employed to contact House Kaulitz. Tom remained in the bathroom a moment longer, tending to some essentials, sparing a thought for the fact that although he hadn't precisely hidden this exchange from his twin, and wouldn't lie if Bill asked for whatever reason, he had taken some pains to take care of it while Bill was unlikely to stumble in.

He could have simply told Bill what he was going to do and warned him to stay out of the bathroom, there being no reason to confirm Bill's continued existence to Jost, or the fact that Tom had found him.

It was House Kaulitz, Tom decided ultimately. He didn't want Bill tainted by association. He loved Bill as he was, odd compassion and sunny disposition and his aura of untouched sweetness, despite the innate Nephilim at his core. Keeping Bill out of that life for as long as possible...it had become Tom's responsibility the moment his twin decided he wanted to live in the human world for a while longer.

He pushed the door open and a floorboard creaked as he made his way back to the bed.

A rumpled dark head lifted. "Mm, Tomi?" Bill murmured.

"Right here, Bill," Tom replied, brushing his fingers over Bill's cheek, flush and warm from where he'd trapped it against the pillow.

"You were gone," Bill noted with a wide yawn.

Tom grinned down at him. "Had to give you a bit of a break," he claimed. His fingers stroked up Bill's throat and he teased at a cluster of nerves below the base of Bill's ear with the pad of one fingertip. "You fell asleep on me, Bill."

"Did not," Bill said indignantly.

Tom laughed, climbing onto the bed and spooning around his twin, who was curled up in a nest of warm sheets and still looking freshly-fucked. They had done it again when they had stumbled back into the apartment that was theirs for a little while longer, the recent action and remembered taste of blood spurring them both to destroy yet another little corner of the apartment in their uncontrolled eagerness. "What was that, then?" he teased, nuzzling at one ear and grinning when Bill attempted to disappear into his nest, tugging the coverlet up until only wide eyes and squiggles of black hair could be seen.

"Resting for round two," Bil's voice emerged, muffled, from beneath the coverlet.

Tom smirked and licked his lips. "Then you won't mind if I help myself," he asserted, grabbing the coverlet and battling Bill for control when his twin eeped and clung to the fabric. Things dissolved into an impromptu wrestling match, both of them laughing. When the coverlet began to tear between their opposing grips, Tom let up and Bill's eyes crinkled up in a grin.

"Come on," Tom coaxed. "Let me have you."

"I'm already yours," Bill said, reaching up to tug Tom's face down to meet his.

It was true. And Tom protected what was his, whatever the cost.


	7. Chapter Seven

Sunlight kissed a warm path over one bared leg, blazing an eventual trail across a dark-starred hip, and at long last Bill Kaulitz writhed, grumbling under his breath as he stirred within the cocoon of sheets in which he'd enveloped his head and upper torso. He began to turtle his limbs beneath the bedding, rearranging it to accommodate his long body, and a corner of sheet was snatched from his grasp and pried up. "Tomi," he whined protest, as a body settled beside him on the bed. He all but purred as a warm, broad hand stroked his bare side and hip.

"Come on, Bill, sit up," his twin encouraged him.

"Don't wanna," Bill sighed, tucking his head against Tom's thigh. He was so warm and lazy and well-loved.

He shifted into a stretch, spanning out his long torso and even longer expanse of leg, and moaned a bit. He was well-fucked, too. As he stretched, the rarity of sore muscles made themselves known. He actually _hurt_ , and relished the sensation. Tom had pounded him into a wall the night before, and then after...

A waft of delicious aroma hit his nose and Bill surged up out of the protective embrace of his sheets, grasping for something Tom held out of reach until he was upright. He grasped at the mug of coffee that Tom waved like a lure and sat up, gulping the hot beverage with greedy enthusiasm.

"You know coffee does nothing for us, right?" Tom told him, amused. He stroked his calloused fingers over Bill's bare shoulder.

Bill replied with a baleful glare. "You're full of it."

"Maybe," Tom admitted with a smirk. "But wouldn't that be something? If this thing you're so addicted to turns out not to do much of anything at all?"

Bill sucked down his cream and sugar infused coffee and basked in the glow of increasing sun-dazzle and the radiant heat of Tom beside him. He was more than a little horny now, and he ran his free hand down Tom's bare thigh. "I think I'm addicted to your cock," he told Tom, nuzzling at him until Tom's mouth was in reach. "You going to tell me that does nothing for me?"

"I'll show you what it does," Tom spoke against his lips, and kissed him until they were both breathing harder, and Bill was fumbling around with his coffee cup, trying to find the nightstand.

Tom plucked the cup from his grasp and set it aside. He stroked over Bill's back and murmured against his mouth, "If you're addicted to my cock, then I'm going to have to give it to you."

"Yes; I need it," Bill murmured, and snaked an arm around Tom's neck, drawing himself upright. Tom ran his fingers back and forth over Bill's starred hip, petting him with a heavy hand. 

"Move over," Tom told him. "How do you want it?"

"Ohh," Bill exhaled as he tried to obey. He shifted, slowly opening and closing his thighs. "You made me sore. Tomi, I'm sore." He groaned and tried to sit up, wobbled, and ended up flat on his back again.

Tom was grinning as he crawled onto the bed. "I fucked you good, then, didn't I?"

"Too good," Bill said, rubbing his ass with a wince.

Tom blinked over at him, a hand on each of Bill's knees. "Are you trying to say I can't have you?"

Bill blinked back at him, baffled by the very concept. "No! But be gentle, you _hammer_ , you," he teased.

Tom smirked over at him. "I'll see what I can manage." He climbed onto Bill, making him squawk, flail, and ultimately spread himself open for Tom.

"Tomi," Bill cried, yoking his hands at Tom's dreadlocked nape as his twin entered him.

Rocking into him sweet and slow, slower than Bill ever remembered the pace of their lovemaking, Tom hovered over him, his sweaty face alight with the shared ecstasy of their connection. Tom held one of Bill's legs up, his calloused fingers rubbing at the long muscle of the thigh as he pumped into Bill, filling him up, making him purr with delight and writhe beneath him.

"Ahh...ahh..." Bill panted, arching his hips up into Tom's gentle but insistent thrusts. "Tomi...mm, Tomi..."

"Bill," Tom responded, quickening the pace but keeping it easy enough that the aches caused by last night were forgotten.

"Mm...ahh, you feel so good inside me," Bill told him, hooking his other leg tight over Tom's back to keep him close. He loved it when Tom pulsed against his ass and triggered his prostate non-stop. "Nn...ahh, ride against my spot, I'm so close!"

Tom gave a low groan and thrust into Bill, holding himself at the deepest point and undulating against him, giving Bill shallow continuous strokes of his cock. Bill wailed and came, smearing it against his belly and stomach with both hands. Tom regarded him with hot, pleasure-hazed eyes and pulled out, holding his spasming cock in one hand and coming against Bill's ass, his still-erect cock, and spilling the last of it over Bill's belly to mingle their seed.

"Pervert," Bill mumbled fondly, as Tom flopped beside him on the disheveled bedclothes. He snuggled up against Tom and reveled in the euphoria that followed such sweet lovemaking.

"What was perverted about that?" Tom demanded, propping himself on an elbow. Though hardly any distance separated them, he reached over to set a hand on Bill's arm, lightly caressing.

"Smearing your come all over me," Bill said, wrinkling his nose. "Like we're animals." He dipped his fingertips in the wet warmth and spread it around in lazy circles.

"You loved it," Tom said, raising a brow. He thumbed the inner skin of Bill's elbow and looked supremely satisfied. "And I don't think that was even perverted by human standards, let alone our kind's."

"Half-human," Bill reminded him, and leaned against Tom for a kiss. "Mmm, what time is it?" Tom pressed another kiss against Bill's neck as he turned to glance at the bedside chronometer.

"Probably time for you to go," Tom mumbled, altering his target to drag his fingers over the black triple star on Bill's hip. He smeared come over a few points and looked up into Bill's eyes. "If you're serious about going to class?"

"You know I am," Bill told him, and tried to sit up with an exaggerated groan. He put on a show for Tom, but he really did love the rare tenderness of his condition today; the proof that Tom had been so rough in claiming him that he still felt it this morning. It would fade soon anyhow, the way last night's bruises were already gone, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. He stretched again, looked around, and as his eye ran over the clothes explosion that obscured one dresser he realized that not only had he failed to pack a single item in their apartment, but they hadn't even secured new lodgings. He tensed.

"Bill?" Tom prompted. One of Tom's fingers was tracing along the outline of Bill's star, making him tense in a different sort of way.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Bill growled. "We haven't even started looking for a new place yet." He fell limply back on the bed and contemplated the immense stretch of distance from bed to shower. It was like a desert expanse with only the faintest shimmer of oasis on the horizon.

"We could do both, if you skipped classes today," Tom suggested. He trailed his fingers from Bill's star to the coarse delineation of pubic hair that started low on his belly. "Fuck and find a new place."

Bill swatted his hand away. "I'm not skipping _more_ class unless someone dies," he said, annoyed.

Tom grunted. "At this rate, someone's going to."

Bill rolled his eyes and glared at the clock again. The numbers hadn't receded, any. He still had plenty of time, but he was edgy.

"At least, I assume you meant someone we care about," Tom added as an afterthought.

"Ugh," Bill responded, and wobbled into a seated position on the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at his twin, and his mouth twisted into a pout. "This whole thing is a joke. We'll move into some other place only to get evicted in another six to eight months when the complaints or property damage pile up again."

"What about getting a house?" Tom said.

"Right," Bill said, raising his brows. "I suppose you have money for a down payment stashed somewhere?"

Tom twitched his nose in response. "Be a good idea to have our own place, and no landlord snooping over our shoulders."

"Mm, if we had the money," Bill agreed.

Tom frowned. "Too bad there's no places that advertise Nephilim-proof housing. Unless there's some block of Nephilim-proof housing convenient to campus that we don't know about?"

Bill shook his head at once. “You don't want to live that close to Shemyahza Guile,” he said with certainty.

“The blood traitor?” Tom said without thinking.

Bill gave him a look. “Like we're so lily-pure. You take out contracts from Orion and I've killed three Nephilim-blood myself in the past week,” he retorted.

Tom raised his brows. “That's different,” he said, but he was frowning. “Yours were self-defense and I'm doing it to hone my skills and make money. If they're weak enough that I can kill them, they weren't worth anything. In defense of the humans, Shemyahza Guile wiped out an entire Nephilim territory near New York--”

“Oh, you would have done it too if you had that kind of power,” Bill interrupted with a wave of his hand. “And if Guile hadn't saved the city, where might I be now?”

Tom sighed through his nose. “Don't bring logic into this,” he said in an accusing tone, but he had begun to smile. He climbed into Bill's lap and tugged at his hair. “Come on, skip a day of class. Let's go find our own place.”

“I can't,” Bill sighed. “The anthropology professor is a dinosaur, he factors attendance into the grade. I've already missed a ton of class from our first two weeks together, I can't afford to miss any more. And my fashion class is a workshop, and theatre kind of requires my actual presence, and...”

“Fine, fine,” Tom said, raising his hands in defeat. “I'll browse around and get a list of places and take pictures then we can consider them together, how does that sound?”

“Tomi, you're the best brother ever,” Bill announced, throwing his arms around his twin's neck and hugging him hard enough to strangle a normal person.

"Best lover, too," Tom said confidently.

Bill rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Best brother-lover. They're the same thing for us, you know. We need a new term."

"Mate will do," Tom replied, and dipped his head for a kiss.

Bill gave in to it long enough to really enjoy it, opening his mouth to Tom's probing tongue and humming with pleasure. Tom's fingers played with his nipples, making them stiffen against his palms. It went on and on and Bill was moaning against Tom's tongue until he glanced to the side, to the chronometer again. With a shocked exclamation he pulled his mouth from Tom's, snagging the bar of his tongue stud behind Tom's teeth until it tugged, and he had to disengage more carefully.

"I've got to get ready," he declared, breathless, and cupped Tom's cheek as he clambered off the bed. "Hey, are you going to get this done again?" With his thumb he brushed over the left side of Tom's full lower lip. He already missed the absent lip-ring; it was odd looking at Tom without it.

Tom shrugged. "Yeah, but probably won't have time to find a new ring with the right alloy until after we move."

Bill made puppyish eyes at him.

"Hey, do you want a new place, or a new lip-ring for Tom?" Tom asked rhetorically, sprawling out on his side and stretching. His loose dreadlocks cascaded everywhere.

Bill wanted to sex him up again, and knew Tom would cooperate all too enthusiastically, but he had barely enough time to get himself together and get to campus. "You're trying to make me choose?" he responded, and turned from the tempting sight of his twin for the bathroom.

When Tom got up to follow, Bill gave him a narrow look over his shoulder.

"What?" Tom said with a poor showing of innocence. "We'll save time if we shower together."

"Hmph," Bill responded, knowing that would only be the case if he was on his guard. Tom liked to slip it in when Bill turned around in the shower, especially if he was still open and slick enough to accommodate him, like he was now.

"I'll leave you alone," Tom promised. "I'm coming in with you and Andi to campus, so I have to be ready, too."

Bill peeled back the shower curtain and snorted with irritation. "Honestly, Tom..."

"Seriously, Bill," Tom shot back in a dark tone. "You could have been taken last night, or killed. Do you have any idea how crazy that would've made me?"

Bill shuddered, stepping into the shower and adjusting the spray. He had some idea. There had been a reference to Dante Sparda's Midwestern rampage in one of his contemporary history texts, and he'd done Net search out of idle curiosity. The recollection had more impact for him now, because the legendary demon hunter was half-Nephilim, and had a twin of his own who had been lost to him. After Dante's rampage, most Midwestern demon hunters had had to pack up and move elsewhere for a while.

Dante had been very thorough in his carnage. Now demons everywhere still feared his name.

"Exactly," Tom murmured, stepping in behind Bill. "So we're not going to take any risks with this hide that's so precious to me." He slid his arms around Bill's waist and gathered him against his front.

"Okay, when you put it that way," Bill grumbled. He hated the idea of anything curtailing his freedom, but he'd do just about anything that Tom asked of him so long as it was reasonable.

Tom nuzzled at his neck, kissing along his pulse, giving it an open-mouthed kiss. "I can't lose you," he whispered into Bill's hair. "I can't. I'd raze the world to ash if you were taken from me."

Bill nodded silently, clasping his arms over Tom's.

When Tom began to kiss his neck again, pushing Bill forward under the shower spray until he made contact with the wall, Bill gasped and braced himself against the tiles. "Tomi, Tomi, we can't," he said ruefully, reaching back to stop his brother as Tom pressed his hardening cock into the cleft of Bill's ass.

Tom's groan ripped through the humid air. "It makes me wild just to think about it, Bill; I want to be connected to you." He nudged against Bill, shifting his grip to Bill's hips.

"I know," Bill moaned. "Me too, but...later, you can have me later." He pried Tom's hands from him and twisted around, making access a good deal more difficult.

Tom gusted a sigh against Bill's face then framed Bill's cheekbones with his strong hands. "Okay," he said. He brushed a closed-mouth kiss over Bill's lips, then reached for the shower gel, hiking one eyebrow up in silent inquiry.

Bill giggled and turned around, though he was somewhat wary even now about doing so. "You can wash my back, but no _sexy_ back-washing."

They managed to navigate the rest of bathing without incident, as Bill shifted into businesslike mode and Tom picked up on it, tending to his own showering then exiting before Bill had even finished rinsing conditioner out of his hair.

After climbing out of the bathtub, Bill circulated around the bedroom picking through assorted articles of clothing here and there before catching sight of the time again, screeching, and throwing on the first complete set that he could lay hands on that was remotely coordinated. The knock came at the door and Bill fluttered around anxiously in the bathroom, glad for Tom to answer the door and keep their friend entertained. He still had makeup to attend to, at a bare minimum, because he didn't go out with a naked face unless circumstances were dire.

"...find a few listings yet?" Andreas was saying, as Bill clasped a few silver bracelets on and stepped into his boots, pausing around the corner.

"No, we...we got diverted last night," Tom said, sounding shifty. Bill knew the tone and recognized his twin covering for the two of them. He wasn't going to tell Andreas about the difficulties they were having with the would-be assassins...or kidnappers, whatever they were. Then again, maybe they should, if Andreas was going around with them – he ought to have the choice over whether he was potentially risking his life.

"Again?" Andreas exclaimed with a strained laugh. "You two are worse than newlyweds. Uh."

"Well, we're newly-mated," Tom said matter-of-factly, making Bill's lips tug upward into an involuntary smile. Hadn't he told Andreas the very same thing, the day before?

"Uhh, yeah," Andreas said. Bill could picture the way Andreas would be rubbing awkwardly at his prominent jaw. "That's still weird to me, man."

Bill could also picture that soft rustling sound as Tom's shrug. "It's natural to us," he responded.

Bill finished strapping his boots on and hurried around the corner. "Andi! Thanks for coming," he said happily.

Andreas was indeed standing near the entryway, his hand passing over his jaw in a reflective gesture. He lifted it in a quick wave. "Well, yeah, it's Friday?" he said. 

Bill pressed a hand to his mouth. "Gods, that's right, it's Friday. And we're getting evicted tomorrow! Who evicts someone on a Saturday? Tomi..."

"It's going to be okay," Tom said, standing beside Bill and slipping an arm around him. "We're going to find a place, we'll get moved out...it's going to work out. Even if I have to threaten Mr. Cooper to give us an extension."

"Tomi," Bill said warningly. That had the overtones of threatening the old man into a heart attack, and after his conversation with their mother the day before, Bill didn't really want that placed on the loosely-assembled system of guiding principles that he used in place of a conscience.

Tom sighed and leaned against him, kissing his ear. "But if it would make things easier..."

"We got ourselves into this mess," Bill stated, palming dark bangs out of his eyes. "We're going to get ourselves out of it properly, by human rules."

"Well, there's no harm in asking him," Tom mumbled, his face acquiring a stubborn look.

"Not at all, but the _way_ you ask..." Bill began.

"Shouldn't we get going?" Andreas interrupted. "Bill, we're going to be late if we dither here any longer..."

"Yes, you're right," Bill said with a decisive nod. He snatched up his school bag from a place beside the door and looped his arm through Tom's.

"Uh, wait, what?" Andreas stuttered, as the twins both moved for the door. "Tom's with us today?"

Bill gave Tom a questioning glance, and as expected, his twin returned a noncommittal lift of his brow, leaving it up to Bill.

"I'm being targeted," Bill said, biting his lip. Andreas deserved to know, especially if something were to happen on the way to campus. No one had attacked him when he was riding with Andreas before, but last night's attack had been a clear escalation compared to how events had gone before. "Tom and I were attacked on the way home, last night..."

"Shit, that was you?" Andreas exclaimed, his head jerking up.

Bill widened his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It was on the morning news," Andreas told them, looking back and forth between Tom and Bill. "When I turned on the display, there was a spot on the neighborhood bulletin; it was in my alerts because it's in the area. Media wouldn't say anything more than a couple of people were dead, and law enforcement said it's an ongoing investigation, no comment. They closed off an entire city block."

Tom seemed unsurprised by this, and Bill guessed that his twin had caught the news, but not seen fit to share it with Bill. Nothing worth sharing, then. Nothing that led back to the two of them.

"So there's a chance we could be attacked again," Bill said bluntly. "I'll understand if you want us to bus it to campus..."

"Don't be stupid," Andreas said. "It was at nighttime, right? I'm sure they won't..."

"We can't assume anything," Tom interrupted, curt. His hand reached out, threading through a couple of Bill's belt loops and tugging. "The men who jumped us last night had orders to capture Bill, but there have been four failed attempts now, so..."

" _Four!?_ " Andreas exclaimed. "Gods, Bill, why are you even going to school?"

"That's what I wanted to know," Tom muttered.

Bill rolled his eyes and jabbed his brother in the ribs. " _You_ wanted me to ditch in order to have more sex..." he began, and was interrupted by Andreas's coughing fit. "Honestly, Andreas, you already know we have sex--"

"—lots of sex," Tom interjected smugly.

"Yes, I know, but we _really_ have to get going," Andreas said desperately. "Anyhow I have faith that between the two of you if something happens, you've got my back, so let's get going, all right?"

Bill exchanged another glance with Tom. "If something happens," Bill said, "get the fuck out of there. As far away as possible. Okay?"

Andreas sucked in a breath and nodded, looking disturbed. Better than overconfident in their abilities to keep him safe in a fight, which was Bill's objective.

"Quit scaring him," Tom said, "and let's go."

"He ought to know," Bill said defensively, as he let them out of the apartment.

Despite their dire warnings, no ambush came on the way to campus. Tom escorted them to the building of their first class with a dissatisfied air. Bill patted his chest and shared a long kiss that Tom didn't seem inclined to break off, so he had to wriggle free and hit Tom with his mobile to show him it was past time to leave.

"Find us someplace to live," Bill enjoined. "Or we'll have to store all my stuff and live out of a hotel room until we sign a new lease. Ugh."

"That's an option?" Tom said, raising a brow. "Bill, with all of that going on, that might be easiest..."

"I have faith in your multi-tasking," Bill said, tipping his face forward to press another kiss onto Tom. He nipped Tom's lower lip where he was accustomed to closing his mouth over Tom's lip-ring and made a discontented noise. When Tom reached for him, this time he slipped determinedly out of reach. "Later."

Tom nodded, backing down the front stairs as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll find some places, pick you up after your theatre class, and we'll go over them together before the show."

"Sounds perfect." Bill blew his brother a kiss and turned to go.

Anthropology was too dull for words, as usual, and once again Bill left the class wondering what had possessed him when he'd signed up for the class. It satisfied a required elective, but he wasn't learning anything about demons as he thought he would be; the only demons covered in the course material were the lower monsters that cluttered the ruined lands outside the Wall. Now that he and Tom were together, he could find out anything he wanted about Nephilim; anything that Tom knew. The tales he'd shared of life outside the Wall, living within House Kaulitz, had described a rough and paranoid lifestyle that Bill decided he wasn't ready to commit to. It was a life of power and politicking, constantly being pushed and tested for weakness, and exerting absolute authority when one was in a position such as Tom, as the heir.

At the end of his day when Bill made his way to the theatre class, he found the door closed and the digital display beside the classroom pronounced it to be cancelled for the day. He glared at that for a moment, taking out his mobile to check on why he hadn't received a notifier.

Cassie, a blond girl in his class, strode up the hallway and halted beside him, frowning at the closed door. "What's going on?"

"Cancelled," Bill said, frowning at his mobile.

"But I didn't get a notifier!" she cried.

"The jerk professor must have forgotten to send a notification," Bill guessed.

Cassie pulled an attractive pout. "He is a jerk," she agreed. "I think I heard he joined a revue downtown; maybe he couldn't find a sub at the last moment and cancelled because of that?"

"Doesn't matter," Bill said, waving a hand. "Either way the class isn't happening, so..." He opened up his messages, intending to open a new one to contact Tom and tell him to meet him early, and found an unopened one from the Sweetbox club's owner, Bushido. He cursed softly under his breath and opened it. Bushido was asking him to meet him at the club early, to go over the band's option, and hinted at wider prospects for the immediate future.

"Do you want to go and get some drinks?" Cassie asked him, sidling closer. "I know it's still kind of early, but..."

Startled, Bill flicked his eyes up to her. "Oh, sorry, Cassie; you may not have heard yet, but I'm taken, now."

Cassie giggled. "Well, it doesn't mean you're dead," she said, stepping even closer and running a finger over his shoulder, toward his throat as though angling to draw his face down.

Bill jerked back from her and glared. "It means I'm not available," he stated plainly. "Goodbye, Cassie; enjoy your afternoon off." He turned his back on her and sauntered up the hall.

It was true that in days past, he'd grabbed dates when and wherever he felt like, but he'd thought word would spread once he'd gotten together with Tom and made it clear he was no longer making the rounds. Hell, Tom had made it clear enough, escorting him everywhere with a possessive hand on Bill's hip and a threatening look for anyone who so much as looked at Bill twice. Tom still wasn't quite broken of the habit, Bill reflected, remembering their discussion of the night before.

He opened up his message program again and composed a quick message to Tom, letting him know that he'd meet him at the Sweetbox later – he wasn't going to wait around campus for however long it took Tom to get back simply in order to meet him here. He didn't want to make the club manager wait, especially if potentially better offers for bigger, better clubs were on the table.

It was one thing if Bill were going out gods knew where, Bill reasoned, but someplace like the club – where they were going to end up anyhow – was fair game. Nothing had happened to him so far when he'd been surrounded by plenty of people, and that would be the case traveling to, and at, the club.

Bill picked up the bus line that would take him out to the Sweetbox's neighborhood. He kept his eyes roving and his senses pricked for danger, one thumb on his mobile to quick-dial Tom in case something did come up. Nothing did, though, and he greeted the bouncer outside the club and slipped his phone back into his pocket as the man unclipped the velvet rope for him, letting him inside.

The place was deserted. Bill cast about for waitstaff, or bouncers; he peered over the bar, but there was no one. "Hello?" he called out, and wandered into the employees only area, toward the office instead of the backstage. "Bushido?" It occurred to Bill that he should have messaged back, perhaps, instead of simply heading over.

Someone emerged from the left-hand fork in the corridor, from the direction of the backstage area and the bathrooms. It was a young man, plain, dark-haired. Bill had seen him before – in fact, he'd seen him last night. It was the guy who'd opened the van door on him and Tom.

"What are you doing here?" Bill asked, furrowing his brow. "Do you work at the club? I've seen you around campus..."

The young man lifted a hand as though to extend it to Bill, or reach out for him.

A prickle stung the back of Bill's neck, making his eyes widen. "You..." he began, shoving his hand into his pocket to grab for his mobile. He grabbed harder than he intended, his reflexes spiraling out of his control, and it splintered between his fingers. His eyes rolled up in his head. "Tomi..."

Bill slumped to the floor as consciousness fled.


	8. Chapter Eight

There were things about the human world that baffled Tom, no matter how carefully Bill explained them.

Right that moment, so-called higher education was Tom's stumbling block. Its order in Bill's priorities particularly confused Tom today as he stopped off at the third place near Bill's campus that boasted competitive pricing and immediate openings for housing. His brother was being hunted, Tom was uneasy to even let Bill out of his sight, they were under imminent threat of eviction, and Bill was concerned about _missing class._ It made Tom want to hit something.

Despite that, he'd promised Bill that he would find potential housing for them to go over, so here he was. Tom was snapping pictures with his mobile and asking questions of men and women who looked as though they couldn't wait to get away from him, while he tried to figure out how he'd let the situation spin out of his control to this degree.

"What kind of safety deposit do you require?" Tom asked, dutifully taking a picture of the dim living room with its low ceiling and ugly brown carpet. He frowned. If he could barely stand to look around this place, he knew that Bill would most likely veto it in a second.

"The standard one," the short, balding man replied, eyeing Tom warily. "We do a credit check, of course, and we ask for references from your current housing and employer."

Tom grimaced and the man backed up a step.

"How sturdy are your walls?" Tom wanted to know. "Are they nice and thick? Is the soundproofing pretty good?"

"I'm not sure I like where this is going," the bald man said, edging toward the door. "Did you say you were moving in with your lover?"

"Yes," Tom said, declining to elaborate on the brother-lover concept. "Is that a problem?"

"Are you newlyweds?" the man wanted to know.

Tom blinked, then gave a mental shrug. He could appreciate what others would probably consider a blunt question, because the man was clearly asking for a reason, though Tom had no clue as to what that was. "Kind of?" he offered. "We're newly-mated."

"Ah," the man said, raising his brows. "One of those."

Tom wanted to press him on that score, see what he knew and if he actually meant Nephilim or only people who acted as he and Bill did, but as they continued the tour of the apartment it only got dingier. The bathroom was small and cramped, and the bedroom was approximately the size of a closet. As for the closet, there was barely enough room for Tom's cap collection, let alone Bill's sprawling wardrobe. Tom snapped pictures anyhow, and accepted the application when the man offered to send it to his mobile, but he was pretty confident that they wouldn't be giving this one a try. A hotel room would be preferable to rusty pipes in the bathroom that a single careless elbow could wrench right out of the wall.

On their way out, Tom flicked his index finger against a corner, not even half-trying. A piece of plaster shot off the corner and exploded against the far wall.

"What the hell!?" the landlord exclaimed, jumping and looking wildly around.

Tom shrugged and put on his best imitation of Bill's patently innocent eyes. This place wouldn't hold out a week, he estimated. He wondered how much effort it would be to secure the kind of financing they'd need to buy their own property. It would certainly be a hell of a lot more cost effective in the long run.

"If you have any more questions about the property..." the man began uncomfortably, escorting Tom to the door and opening it for him.

"Yeah, we'll call," Tom replied, thinking it very unlikely.

He opened up the apartment listing search results on his mobile and scrolled down to the ones in the price range that Bill had specified for them. Outside, the day was sunny and clear. Tom glanced up, seeing the faint shimmer-distortion of the Wall above. It let in sunlight that was more or less the real deal, but Tom could see the subtle field far above. It was probably too thin to take a direct hit, he guessed, but the major defenses were concentrated on the physical Walls themselves. The city ring where Vanderbrant Campus was located was closer to the core of the city, relatively affluent and accordingly priced. Tom had brought up the prospect of moving to a ring farther out, but Bill had vetoed it absolutely. He refused to risk a longer commute.

Once again, Tom damned the school for taking up so much of his twin's attention, the landlord for evicting them at the worst possible time, and himself for going along with Bill's ordering of their priorities. He should be out searching through the prospects for those who might be after Bill.

Instead, he was dialing up another apartment listing to see whether they could fit him into their busy human schedule.

Four apartment complexes later, Tom had had it. One place had hidden rate increases, another had been owned by a witch who told him flat out "no" the instant she'd seen him. Tom didn't know much about human law – enough to stay out of too much trouble, basically – but he was willing to bet there was nothing protecting Nephilim-blood from housing discrimination. Another place was so cramped and dirty, Tom didn't bother to take pictures; the last was decent, but there was a neighbor on the floor below and a neighbor against the bedroom wall and Tom could hear them moving around as though they were right beside him, so there was a good chance the people on the other side would hear Tom and Bill fucking. And that was part of the reason they were looking for new housing to begin with, so...

Tom slouched back to the curb and pulled his mobile from his pocket again, ready to scroll glumly through the thinning prospects again. He checked the time, and figured it for about the point that Bill would be heading to his last class.

He had enough time for one more apartment visit, and it looked as though he was going to have to fit it in, because the prospects had been dismal so far. Tom knew his twin well enough to determine with confidence that Bill would not want to sign a lease at any of the places he'd seen so far today. He also knew with equal certainty that Bill would want to see the proof of the photographs before he'd actually admit to Tom's assessment of all the places he'd visited.

He soldiered on. He set up a meeting, he walked to a block of housing that resembled a row of shoeboxes, and eyed it dubiously when the landlord, a woman this time, came out to meet him. She was tall and blond and licked her lips as she let her eyes travel over him. When he asked the soundproofing question she crowded close to him and asked directly, "Are you loud when you're fucking?"

"Not me so much," Tom said outright, "but I like to make Bill scream. Oh, and he's in college so I'm supposed to ask about student rates."

The blond's face fell, but she kept giving him not so subtle interest cues, from posture to the scent she probably didn't even realize she was exuding. Tom snapped pictures of the interior and tried not to make faces to express his opinion of the place. It was small, like the other places; low-ceilinged, and the cheap rates were reflected in the quality of the walls and flooring.

There could be advantages, though, to having a landlord who had an approving attitude toward Tom. And he was willing to bet they could get a short term lease, one that would give them the time they needed to find a better place.

His mobile had chirped with a few notifications during the walk-through.

He had been getting a steady trickle of them throughout the day due to all of the calls he'd been making, and he had alerts set up for certain news items and bounty categories that he considered worth his time. He hadn't set his mobile to silent mode because he'd been hoping for a call from Bill; an admission that going to classes had been a bad idea, perhaps, and both of them had more important things to do than apartment-hunting.

Such as take up hunting whatever entity appeared to think that Tom's Bill was fair game.

"And the place comes furnished?" Tom asked, paying attention to the growing unease that was warning him something was wrong. He slipped a hand into his pocket to grip his phone. _Bill..._

"Yeah, including the bedroom," the blond told him with a low, throaty laugh, approaching him to trail a finger up his arm even as he fixed a forbidding expression on her. "Want to go test it out?"

Tom raised a brow. "Bill and I have our own custom-made bed," he said pointedly. "I need to get going." The world lurched into the blur of soft focus for a moment and Tom opened his mouth over a silent exclamation as a flare of panic lit through him that was gone in a millisecond.

Completely, utterly gone.

"Bill," Tom spoke the name through numb lips. He shook his head and looked around, somewhat surprised to see he'd staggered a few steps across the tiny living room to brace himself against the wall.

"Yeah, you've mentioned him," the blond said, annoyed. She frowned. "Hey, are you okay?"

Tom shook his head again, in the negative this time rather than to clear it, and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. In his mind, a rising clamor of _Bill Bill Bill Bill_ was starting up, as his instincts recognized what his head refused to wrap itself around. Only that morning, they'd lain together in their bed. Only a few hours ago, Tom had kissed his mate goodbye.

He fumbled with his phone and it was an effort to retrieve his notifications without crushing the small device in his hands. It was so fragile and he had such little time. He swiped past a couple of news alerts, a message from Georg, and found the most recent one, which was from Bill.

_Class cancelled; meet you at the Sweetbox._

"Shit," Tom swore, and dialed Bill's number. "Pick up, pick up," he chanted under his breath.

The call went to voicemail. Bill always picked up, _always_ picked up Tom's calls if they weren't physically together. That is, he did...if he was able.

Tom closed his eyes and his mouth worked soundlessly. No. _No._ His fists clenched and he vaguely heard the splintering of plastic. When he opened his eyes, the blond was backing away, her face reflecting rising terror, and the mobile in his hand was a useless pile of junk.

"I have to go," Tom informed her, monotone as he kept a tight rein on the extremity of his rage. Somewhere, between campus and the club at which they had their next gig, Bill had been taken.

The blond nodded dumbly.

Tom turned on his heel and sifted through plastic and metal pieces, finding the small chip that had been the heart of the phone and pocketing it. Destroying the mobile hadn't even given him any particular relief; he was empty now, hollow and wanting, recalling the not so distant feel of the first sixteen years of his life when he'd gone through the motions of a twin-less existence. Somewhere, the rage smoldered behind the emptiness that called for action, purpose.

Someone had taken Bill, but they hadn't counted on Tom.

He didn't bother with campus. Unless whoever was behind Bill's abduction was growing truly desperate, they wouldn't risk approaching him out in the open, where there were so many people to witness him being taken. No, the previous attacks had been swift, covert. They'd tried for Bill when there had been no people around, either early or late.

He took the bus line to the neighborhood where the Sweetbox was located, and stalked around on foot. The few people here and there gave him a wide berth, catching sight of his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists; most crossed the street. Tom flared his nostrils wide to catch scent, and it was there – faint, almost gone, but Bill had made it to the bus stop, at least. He'd made it to the club.

Tom traced the path along the usual route to the Sweetbox. There were no diversions, no unusual pauses in the mental map of his brother's path that Tom was forming as he triggered his other-sense. Bill's presence formed a bright, sparkling trail to Tom's other-sense, and it led straight up to the door of the Sweetbox.

"Have you seen Bill?" Tom demanded of the bouncer outside.

The bouncer gave him an impassive shake of the head.

Tom spat, "Liar," and would have moved forward to strike him, but the presence of Bill was thicker here, more recent, and Tom wanted to hurry and catch any clues while he still could.

"Yesterday," the bouncer offered with a shrug, and his body language screamed the lie, but Tom didn't bother to call him on it again.

He'd possibly come back and pop the man's head off, though, if he didn't find satisfying enough answers within.

Tom ignored the man's feeble efforts to keep him out of the club and kicked the door down, not because he had to but because there was a tiny satisfaction in the destruction, in seeing the metal dent easily under his foot, in watching the bolts securing it to the frame tear right out of the wall. The door clattered to the floor and he trod over it.

Inside, the place was nearly empty. It was early yet. Tom followed his other-sense toward the back areas of the club and came across a waitress. He grabbed her swiftly by the throat before she could even squeak.

"Where's Bill?" Tom demanded.

The waitress tried to cough, clawed at Tom's hand, and wriggled in his grip like a dying thing.

Tom sighed and loosened his fingers, giving her some air. "Where is Bill?" he repeated in a low, menacing growl.

"I don't know!" the waitress managed. "Haven't seen him since yesterday."

It was the truth.

Tom's head snapped up and he growled, releasing his grip on the useless waitress. With a small scream, she kicked out at him then stumbled back, turning and running away on rickety heels. Tom paid her no mind; he had a bearing now, and a purpose.

Bill was awake, and pissed; Tom could sense it. And Tom would tear the world apart with his own two hands if that was what it took to get to his side again.

* * *

Bill shook his head dazedly as the heaviness of unnatural sleep left him.

There was a distant rage rumbling like barely-contained thunder in the distance, not his but Tom's, and Bill drew on it to pull himself together. He focused on the far-away sense of Tom to bring his concentration to bear on his surroundings. Keeping his eyes closed, he let his other senses tell him what they could. There were six men in the room, judging by heartbeats and the soft stir of breathing. He flared his nostrils and an unexpected, familiar scent reached him.

 _I know you_ , Bill thought with shock. His mind reeled with the improbability of what was occurring. By Nephilim standards, he supposed it made sense – take what you want, regardless of consequence. By human rules, this entire encounter had spun wildly out of control.

Bill shifted his position ever so slightly. He was on his side and his hands were bound behind him. He tested the give of the restraint and found it solid, unyielding.

The last thing he recalled was a slight sting to his neck, and losing consciousness. It could have been some kind of tranquilizer, heavy grade, and magic had most certainly been involved. Otherwise nothing could have kept Bill down; he would have fought until he dropped. He had been warded against movement, against the use of his powers, so heavily and fast while his defenses had been down that between that and his distraction, he was caught.

So careless, so fucking careless. Tom had a right to be pissed.

"He's awake," a voice said.

Bill's lip curled.

"I can see that," a familiar voice said, and Bill's eyes blinked open in shock.

Bushido stood beside him, reaching down to stroke a hand through Bill's hair.

Bill turned his head and snapped his teeth savagely. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Bushido laughed and drew back before Bill could get near him. "What I set out to do," he said. "Get you into my bed, of course. It's taken quite a bit more effort than I thought it would..."

"You," Bill hissed. "You've been trying to kill me?" He shifted more obviously now, finding himself on a low chaise couch, head near the armrest. He was in some sort of combination office and lounge space, wide glass doors leading to a balcony off toward his head. There was a luxurious work station across the way, and a few men, probably bodyguards, scattered here and there. One of the men at the very periphery of his vision was the one he'd recognized from Bushido's club.

"Kill you?" Bushido tipped his head back and laughed, displaying the gleam of his white teeth. "Why would I want to do that? I sent out the first to capture you, bring you back to me, because you've been so coy at resisting my advances."

"Because I'm not interested, you prick!" Bill exclaimed. Behind his back he chafed his wrists against his restraints, trying to determine their composition.

Bushido moved to seat himself at the edge of the couch, drawing back as Bill kicked out with his feet. "Yes, well...when my men kept dying, instead of reporting back, I sent a blood with more magic than physical power – his last transmission projected his assessment of you as Nephilim blood, yourself."

"So?" Bill flared, twisting his wrists back and forth. He thought he knew what it was, now – it was the type of cuffs he'd teased Tom about, the restraints that could allegedly secure someone with Nephilim strength. He began to force his wrists apart, testing the ultimate resistance.

“Now that I know what you are, I figure you like your courtship...rough,” Bushido told him. He reached in to cup at the side of Bill's face, thumb pressing along his jaw.

“Fuck you, I'm already taken,” Bill said with a sneer. He jerked his head back and channeled his surge of anger into straining at the cuffs behind his back.

Bushido pulled back just out of range and laughed. "Taken? Please. You go home with your brother every night, your band-mates...you can't possibly be telling me you're sleeping with _them_." He waved a dismissive hand.

Bill bared his teeth in a fierce smile. He had found a point of weakness in the cuffs and he reached up to grasp at the links that chained his hands together.

"I've given you my answer already, and it's firm," Bill stated.

Bushido laughed. "Baby, I'll show you firm."

Bill's lip peeled up from his teeth and his pierced brow rose. "Is that supposed to be a joke? You're disgusting." At the edge of his consciousness in the place that read 'Tom' to his senses, his mind was ablaze with rage. He tapped into it, inhaling the searing fire of his twin's fury, and tested his restraints again, shifting to make sure his movements were still concealed behind his back. "You're just going to rape me?"

Bushido chuckled. "Think of it as rough foreplay," he invited, giving Bill a look that he probably thought of as smoldering, but came across as a leer. "I'll make sure you come."

Bill shot him a withering glare. "How exactly do you expect to accomplish the deed?" Bill wanted to know. When Bushido reached out as though to stroke his hair again, he twisted off to the side and lashed out with both feet. "I'm not helpless, you know – and now I'm awake." He shuddered absently over the thought that he could have woken with the man already seated in him...and he probably would have cooperated for a split second or two, imagining before full awareness it was Tom. No, that wasn't Bushido's style. He wanted him awake, so that Bill knew who was attempting to claim him.

"Those cuffs, for one," Bushido said, lifting his chin. He looked amused as Bill snarled again, straining his wrists apart as far as they would go.

Bill flexed his arms and drew on Tom's rage again, sensing at the same time that he was getting closer. Tom was a beacon of pulsing anger, no longer distant. There was a soft, understated clink of metal snapping behind him and Bill kept his arms where they were. He rotated his wrists and found his hands free, with a full range of motion, though the fetters were still braceleting his wrists. His lip curled in triumph.

"A set for my wrists and a set for my ankles, huh?" Bill prompted. He looked down at his feet. They were still unbound.

"Well, that and a good, heavy ward," Bushido admitted. He moved forward to set a hand on Bill's thigh. "Depending on how cooperative you end up being."

Bill kicked out at him. "Go fuck yourself," he snarled. "I'm taken. I am _not_ available."

"You keep saying that, but I'm still not finding it convincing," Bushido said, reaching for him again.

Bill lashed out with his feet, narrowly missing the man as Bushido dodged back out of range with an incredulous laugh. "Try it," he invited in a dangerous tone. "I'll bite your dick off." He sneered.

"Bitch has got some teeth," Bushido remarked, a hand moving as though to trace the contours of Bill's face, but staying well out of range. "Baby, it's not going in your pretty mouth. Not until you're broken in, at least. I'm giving it to your other hole." His hand dropped to the front of his slacks and squeezed.

Bill flared his nostrils and averted his face. "No," he denied. The smell of Bushido's growing arousal stank to his heightened senses.

"Cocktease." Bushido sighed. "Was hoping I wouldn't have to do this."

"I have never led you on!" Bill exclaimed, swinging up and into a sitting position, keeping his arms behind him as though still bound.

Bushido's eyes widened somewhat, and two different men off to one side put their hands into their suit jackets. "Baby," Bushido said, sounding unruffled. "You lead a man on just by walking through the room."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Kidnapping and trying to rape me doesn't change anything," he stated through clenched teeth. "I'm mated, and Tom's going to kill you and let out-Wall demons fuck your corpse."

"Anders," Bushido said, waving to a slender, nondescript man near the far window. "Ah, baby, it's not rape when you enjoy it."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Bill murmured. He raised his pierced brow sardonically as a tingle swept over his skin - the nondescript man, Anders no doubt, had tried to ward him. Bill held himself still as though it had taken affect while Bushido reached for him again. Anders, he noted, was already looking faintly worried.

Bushido's hand came within a hair's breadth of cupping his cheek. Bill ducked to one side and his right hand flashed out from behind his back, catching Bushido's wrist in a grip tight enough to grind tendon against bone.

"Whu--" the man began, trying to jerk back.

Guns were drawn all throughout the room and Bill sent a disdainful look at all of them. Human, they were all human. Their reflexes had nothing on his.

"Two things," Bill said sweetly, getting to his feet. Once more the man tried to pull away, the rank odor of his lust giving way to sour confusion and a rising citrus-sharp anger. "First, warding _me_ would only work if I'm caught off guard or incapacitated, as you did at the club. Second, your cuffs might work on an average Nephilim - one _without_ a really pissed-off twin."

Bushido tried to wrench his wrist out of Bill's grip and Bill let him with a soft laugh, more of a cackle. The club manager reached up to toggle something at his suit lapel, a communication link. "I've got a situation. Send everyone in - now!"

There was no answer.

"Ah," Bill said, and grinned manically. "You're really fucked, now."

The door burst open, not flung so much as _exploded_. The fiery presence of Tom filled his senses and Bill took a quick breath, every cell in him alight as he reassured himself with the sight of his twin, his other half. Tom stood tall, his fury giving him the impression of enormity twice his already impressive height. Bill grinned until he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He turned, lunging for the nearest of the bodyguards who was shifting his aim from Bill to the threat at the door. Crossing the room in a couple of strides, Bill lashed his fist out at the man's gun and sent it spinning through the air. The man howled, clutching his wrist, and Bill backhanded him. He dropped.

Bill glanced off to the side, inhaling with quick pride as he saw Tom evade gunfire and take out his opponent with a swift uppercut.

The bodyguard beside Bill turned his gun on him, pulling the trigger.

Snarling, Bill ducked the human's pathetically slow shot and threw himself forward, crashing into him and knocking him off his feet. The man screamed and Bill heard something snap within the man's fragile body. He hit the floor and Bill danced off to the side, kicking the gun out of the man's hand to be sure. It skidded out of reach.

Not even breathing hard, Bill rose to his full height and turned to get his bearings on the fight. He'd seen Tom taking out one of his opponents, he'd heard shots off to his side and then behind him, but none had gotten close enough for him to have to duck. He didn't know what kind of charge or caliber the weapons had, but best to play it safe.

Tom was going to get on his case enough already, for getting himself carried off so stupidly.

Everyone else in the room was down, groaning in pain or unmoving, but for three figures. Anders was cowering by the window. Bushido still stood, his expression fixed in defiant lines. And the third, his handsome face enraged, was...

"Tomi!" Bill crowed, jumping over a whimpering body and hurtling across the room into his twin's arms.

Tom's expression didn't soften one whit, but his arms tightened around Bill and he nuzzled into his hair, keeping his gaze fixed beyond Bill as he inhaled. Bill did, too, taking in the scent of scorching rage that rose off his twin, angrier than he'd ever seen anyone in his life.

"You're okay," Tom stated, because he could smell it on Bill.

"I had this," Bill protested, twisting around to face his would-be rapist.

"Anders," Bushido snapped out, and the psychic in the corner cringed.

"I can't!" the man cried, clutching at his head. He wouldn't even look at Bill and Tom. "They're too powerful – especially together." He began to run, stumbling as he circled the perimeter of the room and made for the door.

Tom tensed and Bill shook his head ever so slightly. "Let him go, he's harmless," Bill murmured. They'd maimed enough for the day. There were still four heartbeats from the men fallen on the ground, and Bill was surprised that his twin hadn't killed anyone.

"How did you find this place?" Bushido demanded, glaring from Bill to Tom. "None of my people would have talked."

"I lost him once," Tom said, settling his arms around Bill in an unmistakably possessive hold. One hand pressed to the flat of Bill's belly, while the other gripped his hip. "Now that I've found him, I can _never_ lose him again."

"You were right, Tom," Bill said, glaring at the older man. "Bushido doesn't respect your claim on me."

Bushido barked with incredulous laughter. "Claim? What kind of claim could there be?" He looked from Bill to Tom and back again, confusion giving way to dawning awareness. "You're twins; anyone with eyes who looks at the two of you could see that, despite the differences. You can't possibly be...together..." He trailed off, frowning.

Tom petted the star on Bill's hip, pushing his shirt up with nimble fingers to get at skin, teasing it with his thumb. He said nothing; only continued to glower.

"You're wrong about that, Bushido," Bill told him outright. He'd tried to warn the man before, and he hadn't listened. He tipped his head to the side to get a good look at Tom, who was still a solid pillar of rage, his jaw tight. Bill was pleased his twin had come to rescue him, though he was pretty sure he'd had the situation in hand, despite the initial disadvantages. "He's only human, Tomi; you shouldn't hold it against him too much." Tom's eyes flicked over to his and he pressed forward, capturing Bill's mouth with his own.

With a soft, pleased noise, Bill accepted the crushing pressure of Tom's kiss. His lips were forceful, parting Bill's at once, tongue seeking his. Bill sent it chasing back and their kiss deepened before Tom broke it, nipping at his lip as though chastising him.

"Later," Tom murmured, for Bill and Bill alone. His amber-brown irises were still contracted, fight-ready instead of wide with arousal. "First we take care of the enemy."

"That's...you're sick!" Bushido sputtered. "You're sick freaks, both of you! You're brothers – identical twins--"

"Like that means anything to anyone but a human," Tom said scornfully. "Your own human laws don't have anything against it, anyhow. I checked. The point stands: Bill is my mate, and..."

"...we're _not_ human," Bill concluded. "Your pet psychic told you what I am, right? Before Tom killed him."

Bushido's nostrils flared as he gave the two of them a cold, angry look. "He was sent for recon, capture – there was no need to kill--"

"But his partner _did_ try to kill my Bill," Tom shot back, his hand tightening on Bill's hip. "He tried to take his head off! He deserved to die slower, to warn the rest of your crew, but I was in a hurry to keep Bill alive, so." He shrugged.

One of Bill's hands went up to his neck, where he recalled the bite of the wire that had dug into his skin, despite all his natural protections.

"No, that's not right," Bushido said, backing up a step as Tom growled. "None of them were supposed to kill him..."

"...only take him by any means necessary?" Tom challenged, his anger rising again. He disengaged from Bill to stand beside him, fists loosely clenched. "Taking him from _me_. I could kill you for this."

"He didn't actually succeed in _doing_ anything," Bill pointed out. His instincts were at war with the reasoning instilled by his upbringing.

"He called us sick freaks," Tom reminded him. "And he _kidnapped_ you – have you forgotten that part?"

"We don't just kill people, Tomi," Bill murmured, troubled. They weren't in the heat of battle anymore, and Bushido was a man with powerful connections.

"We eliminate threats," Tom stated coldly. "If we let this one go, it only gives him another chance to try for you."

Bushido's eyes darted back and forth between them. The big man was suddenly expressionless, and he stood in a ready stance, mirroring Tom's aggressive posture. "You're not going to kill me," he stated. "You'd be booted out-Wall in an instant, the moment they discovered what you did."

"Wouldn't I?" Tom challenged. "Bill's got certain tricks for erasing our presence. They'd never know."

"All my men--" Bushido started.

"Would know I'd come after them faster than they could say 'police protection,'" Tom interrupted. "And I'd kill them and make it _hurt,_ for putting Bill in danger."

"Wait just a moment," Bill objected, irked at Tom for treating this as a foregone conclusion. It diminished his say in the matter, for one, and he wasn't convinced that Bushido needed to die. Not to mention, he wouldn't be able to erase the imprint as he had with his previous kills. There was no psychic potential in Bushido's presence for him to latch onto.

"That's right, you wait," Bushido said it commandingly, spreading his hands out and fixing Tom with a glare. "You don't have the pull or the turf to take me out without serious consequences..."

"What would you have done," Tom said it low and menacingly, "if Bill had remained incapacitated, and I hadn't arrived?"

Bushido cocked his head, brows rising, then he smirked over at Bill. "Well, I've heard your kind regards rape as foreplay. I was gonna help myself."

Tom hissed like a mantling dragon and Bill raised a hand to his forehead. Did he really want to protect the man from his own stupidity?

As Tom started forward, swifter than any striking lesser demon, Bill had a split second to make a decision, and this time he certainly didn't have the leisure to pull out his mobile and call his mother for a consult.

"Tom!" Bill called out, his voice ringing authoritatively. He was half of everything they were, and Tom _had_ to listen.

Freezing in place halfway to Bushido, Tom began to turn back toward Bill, his expression twisting with incredulity. "Bill, really--" he began.

Behind him, Bushido pulled a gun from his suit jacket and aimed it for Tom's head.

Bill's mind exploded into pure flame, a place beyond rage, and he launched himself forward. The click of the trigger being pulled was loud as an avalanche to his ears. With a rising yell, Bill was on the man before Bushido's expression could shift from anything but the grim determination on his face from the instant he'd resolved to kill Tom. Bill struck his arm out at Bushido, sending the shot wide in the direction of the vast glass windows.

With his other hand, he lashed out on instinct, bringing his fist up sharply enough that there was a sharp crack-crack of breaking bone.

Taking a quick breath, Bill stepped back, blinking as he watched the familiar fading of spark, of consciousness, from the man's dark eyes. His hands were still fisted and he vibrated with uncontrolled rage as he watched Bushido slump to the ground and there was only a primal triumph thrumming through him for taking out the person who had tried to kill what was _his_.

After a moment, hands touched his shoulders and Bill's nostrils flared. He accepted Tom's arms around him, reason returning as he stared down at the corpse.

"Bill, it's okay," Tom soothed, holding him and kissing his temple.

"It's not," Bill denied, voice cracking. He turned in Tom's arms and clung to him, burying his face in Tom's neck and the soothing scent there. "It's not, it's really not."

Bill had killed a man – a human.

"I'll make it okay," Tom said resolutely. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Bill let Tom lead him from the room. He was reflective, almost dazed. In the end, there had been no choice, no decision. His Nephilim side had taken over completely as though the human half of him held no sway whatsoever.

He had eliminated the threat. As Bill slipped his long fingers into Tom's, there was no part of himself that regretted the course to which his instincts had led.


	9. Chapter Nine

Detective Randall gulped the last of his coffee and tossed it into the trash receptacle beside the elevators before toggling the button. As he waited, he tapped away on his mobile to pull up the latest information that the lab had turned up on the series of killings.

This one didn't fit the profile, and Randall was both disturbed and intrigued by this. It could mean a break in the case. The location had been completely different, though by all accounts the modus operandi matched the other murders strung out over the past week and a half. The time of day didn't match the others, which had all taken place in early mid-morning, with the exception of the one immediately previous. That one had been in the middle of the night, and had brought them closer to any kind of usable evidence than the previous killings.

Most especially, Randall was hurrying to the penthouse site to consult with Marina Whitbeck, as she'd been closest, and first on scene. He was very much hoping everything that set this incident apart from the others would provide another kind of break.

Checking his messages as the elevator sped upward, Randall chewed at the inside of his cheek and wondered what was taking Orion so long. He'd gotten his boss's approval on his records request from Orion that morning, and had promptly sent over the criteria, including Whitbeck's and Pierce's impressions that there were two suspects involved, closely related in all likelihood, and that they were male. There couldn't be many people – rather, half-breeds – matching that description, and Randall had honestly been expecting results retrieved and sent back to him by now.

The lobby of the building had been pristine, arched faux-marble halls and smooth, polished wooden flooring. As Randall stepped from the elevator, the radius of destruction took him by surprise. It was as though a bomb had gone off in the room beyond the elevator. A wooden desk had been shoved to one side and was a wreck of timber, essentially large splinters. To one side, a large chunk of faux-marble had been smashed out of one archway, revealing the cheap plaster below. Across from Randall, the doorway gaped wide – there was no door, only shreds of metal bolt where hinges must have been, and the frame to one side had been partially obliterated.

Randall shoved his mobile into his pocket and strolled forward, casting an eye over the tech that was running analyses on the anteroom. "Anything so far?"

"Nothing, sir," the woman reported, glancing up. "I'm collecting fingerprints to match, but so far nothing has jumped out as particularly evidence-worthy."

Randall made a disparaging noise in his throat and moved into the next room; what the first officer on scene had referred to as the main crime scene.

The room inside was wide, spacious; high-ceilinged with luxurious appointments. It was surprisingly neat and undisturbed given the explosion in the room outside. One entire wall was taken up with floor to ceiling glass, a panel of which had been completely shattered. Randall glanced at the balcony beyond. There was a scorch mark on the wall outside, indicating that a charge of some kind was responsible for the damage. A few pieces of furniture were overturned – a low chaise lounge, a table, a few other chairs. Aside from that and a rumpled throw rug, that was it.

Marina Whitbeck stood near the far side of the room beyond the toppled chaise lounge. Her arms were folded tight to her body and her attractive face was marred with a deep scowl.

"What have we got?" Randall inquired, approaching.

Marina raised her large, expressive eyes to lock on his. "We've got a hell of a confusing scene, is what we've got," she replied at once.

Randall inhaled slowly. The burning question at the forefront of his mind was... "Self defense again?" he wanted to know, and glanced down at the body. He already knew who it was, and the man's face was distinctive for having been in the local news on more than one occasion, most recently at an arraignment from which he'd escaped with no charges. Self-styled "Bushido," a local, small-time crime kingpin; Anis Ferchichi.

Bushido's expression in death was grim, not even surprised – as though he hadn't seen it coming. His face had a cold sort of resolve cast to it, and his dark eyes were clouding over.

There was no way, Randall concluded, that this had been self defense.

"Yes, it was," Marina replied, rocking Randall out of his introspective.

"What? How!?" Randall exclaimed.

Marina shrugged her shoulders, moving stiffly as she kept her arms close in front of her. "That's your job, _detective_ ," she said with sweetly subtle emphasis. "All I can tell you is that this man was killed in the act of trying to kill someone else." She nodded to one of his fallen arms. There was a gun in his right hand.

"Hunh," Randall grunted, irked by that. It wasn't the break for which he'd been hoping. "So...whoever was targeted ended up here...defending themselves against the person who may have been targeting them?"

"That sounds convoluted, detective," Marina said, giving him a smirk. "I'm also concerned by what we did not find upon arriving at the scene."

Randall rotated a hand, urging her on.

"There were more people here, when the incident occurred," Marina said, turning to sweep the room with a considering gaze. "The echoes of their imprints are still on the scene."

"That's another deviation from the previous crime scenes," Randall observed, bringing out his mobile to record that information. "What about the killer – or killers? Have you got an imprint there, or is the trace swept clean again?"

"That's the oddest part of all," Marina said, and shivered. "It's not as it was before. The scene has been swept, yes, but the trace leads back to someone who fled the scene – someone who isn't here. Unlike the previous crimes, where the trace tied back to the dead person on the scene. And the way the trace was done..." She trailed off and looked troubled.

"Go on," Randall said, wondering why she was being so hesitant. Marina was a blunt, straightforward person. He counted on her to tell him the whole story that the evidence spelled out for her, or to be honest when her abilities weren't up to task, as was sometimes the case.

"It was different," she began, frowning. "I can't pinpoint it. It's nothing I could testify to, though I'm putting it in my report anyhow, for your reference. I would say...it was done by a different person, but the technique is so very particular, so unique..."

"Do you still get an impression that the person who did it was male?" Randall prodded, trusting her instincts again.

"Yes," she said at once. "Yes, very masculine."

Randall nodded, shoving his mobile back into his pocket and strolling around the room, avoiding the body itself and focusing on other details. It seemed as though Bushido had been brought down by a single, hard blow. There was very little bruising around the broken jaw, so death must have been virtually instantaneous. There wasn't much that the corpse would be able to tell him, at this point. But _why_ it was done...

Near the overturned chaise lounge, Randall found a few broken links of metal. A couple of them had been snapped nearly in two. He pulled out a stylus and prodded at them, waving a tech to come over and bag them. They appeared to be handcuff links, though the alloy was darker than he recognized.

Self-defense, Marina said, and Bushido had been holding a gun. His expression, fixed in death, was one that Randall recognized – the instant someone had made up their mind to kill someone, and pull the trigger.

Randall thought back to Cal Pierce's statement that there had been two.

Things began to click into place even with the scattered bits of evidence he'd been presented. Someone had come here in a rage, as evidenced by the wreck outside the penthouse office. Someone had come here with something to protect.

Bushido had tried to kill someone, and died when the one he'd assaulted struck out in self-defense.

Randall sighed, getting to his feet. Messy. He truly disliked messy cases. He preferred the clear-cut ones. "Were any of Ferchichi's staff on scene?" Randall asked the cop who had secured the penthouse, approaching him at last.

"No, sir," the officer replied, squaring his shoulders. "We believe Ferchichi's staff fled the building during or after the incident."

"Security tapes?" Randall wanted to know. A paranoid businessman like Bushido surely had to have security cameras.

"Scrubbed, sir."

Randall stared. "You've got to be kidding me." On the other hand...Marina had said there were other people on the scene, and that they'd fled. Was it possible they'd had a change of heart over whatever acts their employer had tried to commit?

It was likelier, Randall mused, that they'd been coerced to side with the ones who'd come out on top of the fray.

"Sorry," the officer said with a grimace. "We moved to secure the building immediately, but..."

"Not your fault," Randall said, waving his hand at the man. "Whoever got to the tapes would have done so before anyone arrived on scene, unless Ferchichi's untimely demise got reported quickly, somehow."

"Doubt it," the officer said, with the cynicism of someone who worked the seedier parts of town.

Randall turned his attention back to the room. Fleetingly he wished that he, like Marina, possessed an other-sense that would let him lift clues as easily from the air as from any other piece of information. Then his jaw firmed as he recalled what a frustrating picture her gifts often presented, inconclusive and difficult to verify, sometimes requiring cross-testimony from other para-forensic specialists if the evidence was unusual or nebulous enough. Randall thrived on hard evidence, physical proof to back up immutable fact.

Now if he could get the results of that query he'd sent over to Orion, he would probably have a list of viable suspects to call in and question.

A tall, slim woman stepped through the door, dark eyes bright in a lean, attractive face. She wore neither police nor paranormal task force insignia, and Detective Randall turned toward her, raising a hand as though to bar her path though she was more than halfway across the room. Her olive-complected skin was tanned, the sign of someone who spent time out-Wall or on a tanning bed, and the way her eyes moved around the room in an alert sweep made him think it was the former. Behind her, two large men followed, with the hulking builds and wary dispositions of bodyguards or bounty hunters.

"This is a closed crime scene," Randall spoke up at once, moving to head the woman off. If they were associates of Ferchichi's, the policeman guarding the elevator should never have let them up.

"Yes, it is," the woman said agreeably, stepping right up, offering a slender tanned hand. "Kellan, Orion Corporation."

"Ah," Randall said, giving the woman a newly appraising look. She moved like a fighter, and was dressed in spare, simple dark clothing. "I'm Detective Randall, in charge of the scene. Have you come to deliver..."

"I'm not here on courier duty," Kellan interrupted with a faintly wry smile. "We're here to take over the scene."

Randall stared over at her. She was around his height, and he didn't need to look down to meet her gaze, which was unwavering. "You're joking." A nauseous sensation spread from the pit of his belly. It had happened before, but for this...? "These are genuine _murders_ , you can't simply walk in here and take over my crime scene!"

His mobile began to ring.

Randall pulled his hand from Kellan's as her expression shifted from wry acknowledgement to a sort of expectation. Giving her a suspicious look, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and suppressed a groan when the display informed him that the caller was his boss.

"Randall," he answered on the third ring.

"There are some Orion operatives on their way to the Ferchichi crime scene," his boss said, dispensing with social niceties.

"They're here," Randall said, keeping an eye on Kellan. She was looking around the wide room, hands clasped before her, expression neutral. Waiting.

"Let them have it," his boss instructed.

"But, sir--!" Randall began to protest, already knowing it was futile. Odds were, Orion had already run their query and they knew the identity of the culprits, or _culprit_. Also as Pierce had predicted, this was simply going away. The devils who had done this would never be questioned, never held up to trial. _Self-defense._ They probably wouldn't even be fined, and Orion had come to sweep everything under the rug.

"It's done," his boss stated. "All that's left is how hard they can make this for you. You've got other cases you can work, Randall. Have the techs turn over whatever they've collected, and you and Marina come back to pick up another file that just landed in our laps."

Randall hung up the call without saying goodbye. He gestured broadly. "It's all yours, apparently."

"Thank you," Kellan said, polite. Her head craned as she cast a glance over her shoulder, and the two larger men began to move around the scene. "Secure whatever samples they've collected."

"So," Randall said, stepping toe to toe with her, still irritated that his nearly-solved case was being plucked neatly from his hands. He was willing to bet she even had suspect names. "What's this about, then?"

Kellan didn't back down or give a single inch of ground. Her eyes were steady on his and in their dark depths, a glint surfaced, there and gone but enough to raise Randall's hackles. He'd been around enough people like Marina – human, but possessed of extrasensory gifts – and Cal Pierce, who was one of the most powerful Nephilim-bloods in New York City, to know the difference. Kellan wore a human face, but she was "other," according to all that Randall knew.

"Quite honestly, we don't know yet," Kellan told him with a firm, yet somehow unsettling smile. "I'd recommend you let the matter drop. It's under our jurisdiction now."

"Right," Randall muttered, and waved at Marina to join him. He returned to the anteroom and pulled out his mobile, calling up the file he'd been working on for the past few weeks. He could make a copy, maybe, and pick away at it in whatever spare time he possessed. He could go at it from the Ferchichi angle, instead, to see if the man had been involved in any recent dangerous dealings that would have caused things to come to this brutal conclusion.

Randall stared, frowned, and turned his mobile off, shoving it back in his pocket. They had cleared out all his files.

"What's going on?" Marina wanted to know. Her eyes were wide and she appeared outright spooked.

"It's their problem now," Randall replied, sour. Send the demons to deal with demons, he reckoned. There was only so far that humanity could deal with those devils, though, before sooner or later something turned.

* * *

Tom swept Bill out of the penthouse office and dealt with Bushido's bodyguards, swiftly but efficiently, before getting his twin home by the quickest route possible.

They went on foot until they reached what Tom deemed to be a safe distance, at which point they caught a bus line, until at last they trudged back to the temporary home that was theirs, at least, for a little longer. Tom's attempts at conversation had all been met by a shake of the head, and Bill had bent forward until hair obscured his face – and expression – from view. Tom had gotten somewhat rough with the bodyguards that had remained after Bushido's death, he knew, but it had only been to establish his dominance. He'd left them alive, after instructing one of them to make sure the building's security tapes were wiped, and staying long enough to be sure it would be done.

The moment they were through the door to their apartment Tom laid his hands on Bill, seeking reassurance, fed up with silence.

"Hey," Tom murmured, seizing Bill's chin and turning his twin's face toward him forcibly. Bill's eyes were blank, almost glassy. "Hey. You have to tell me what's going on, okay? Are you...do you regret it?" Though they were barely inside the door, Tom figured it was safe to collapse at last, if it was going to happen. It was why he hadn't prodded Bill before.

Bill's eyes sharpened, focusing on him at last. "What? _No_!" he insisted, surging forward and locking his arms around Tom. "He was going to kill you!"

Tom laughed curtly. "He was going to _try_ ," he corrected. He lifted a hand to Bill's face, stroking mussed strands of hair back from his cheek and jaw. "I don't understand why you're upset. You have to tell me." He'd come to that office determined to eliminate the threat, no matter who it was. So far as he was concerned, it was only convenient that Bushido had tried to kill him. It had nullified Bill's protests, and now it was over.

"I'm not...upset," Bill hedged, ducking his head when Tom fixed him with an 'oh, really' look. "I'm not! It's just...I killed someone, Tom."

"You've killed before," Tom said, raising a brow. Though his protective instincts roused at even the thought of someone trying to take Bill out, his little brother had proved himself capable over the past few weeks.

"Yes, but..." Bill began, shaking his head. "None of them were human. Bushido was basically helpless compared to us, Tom."

Tom's lip curled in a snarl. "He was going to..." he began heatedly.

"But he didn't," Bill interrupted.

Tom's nostrils flared. "What if it had gone down differently?" he wanted to know. There were wards that would have kept Bill's will bound up so tightly that Tom could have gotten there too late. Bushido had expressed his intentions quite plainly.

Bill averted his eyes. "I'm all right," he said, low-voiced.

"He tried to take you from me," Tom said, his voice cracking. "When I knew you were gone – when I knew you'd been taken, I went _insane_..."

"I saw the anteroom," Bill said in a subdued voice. His face was ducked, but Tom could see his lips curving up now.

"I promised myself we'd never be separated again," Tom said, his own voice low. "Today, I almost broke that promise. And if he'd...if he'd _touched_ you, I would've ripped his heart out."

"I took care of it!" Bill said, head lifting defiantly at last. He shook dark hair out of his face. "I'm not a helpless, delicate flower!"

Tom gripped him by the shoulders. You're not," he agreed. "But you're not trained. And Bushido was careless, overconfident. If he'd truly set out to have you, well-equipped the way he wasn't today..." Frustrated, Tom took Bill's face in his hands and tried to transmit with touch and gaze all that words had proved inadequate.

Bill's throat worked and he nodded. "I know," he rasped at last. There was faint color in his cheeks. "The thought...occurred. As I was working the cuffs. As Anders tried to hit me with another ward, and I broke it."

Tom sighed and stroked a thumb over Bill's jaw, moving to cup his hand at the side of Bill's skull. "I love you so much," he gave the words freely. "Even thinking what could have happened..." He trailed off, torn between gathering Bill into his arms and admiring his beautiful face, so like yet unlike Tom's own. The red rage that had consumed him welled up from the pit of his stomach again, an echo and reminder of his recent rampage. The only thing that had prevented him from lashing out and killing the bodyguards in Bushido's penthouse office had been the sight of Bill on his feet, unbound.

"I know," Bill replied, reaching up to grasp Tom's wrists. "I felt it. Like a connection, like a circuit between us - your rage gave me the strength to break the cuffs."

Tom's gaze dropped to Bill's hands. Each of his fine-boned wrists were ringed with metallic cuffs. The fury boiled up and over and Tom broke Bill's grip easily, pinching each cuff. With a little jerk, he snapped each in half. His jaw flexed.

"Oh, thank you," Bill said. He shook the cuffs off and raised smoldering eyes, pressing himself forward into Tom's arms. "Tom. _Tom._ It's over, done with. I'm here."

Tom realized he was growling - a low, ominous rumble. He broke it off and focused on the reality of Bill before him, rescued safe and in his arms. Relief and anxiety flooded him all at once, delayed reaction - waiting until they were here, until they were _safe_ \- and Tom sought out skin contact, pushing his hands up Bill's fitted shirt. Bill made an urgent, equally anxious noise and raked his fingers up Tom's front, tearing his shirt like tissue paper.

"Mine," Tom rasped, and claimed Bill's mouth. Taking his twin's action as the standard by which to set the pace of their encounter, he ripped the shirt from Bill's skinny torso with a couple of impatient jerks.

For once, Bill didn't complain about the loss of clothing; only slanted his mouth hungrily against Tom's, making a soft noise as his lips pushed against and parted Tom's. Their tongues met and stroked roughly together. Their hands scrabbled at each other's chests, and Tom grabbed at Bill's trim waist, striving to get them closer, impossibly close. Bill made another noise against his mouth.

"I want it right here," Bill said once they pulled their mouths apart for the briefest of breaks. "Right here against the door."

"You've said time and again you don't want the door fucked into matchsticks," Tom protested. He was only parroting his twin's oft-repeated words as he continued, "It would put the neighbors off."

Bill's eyes flashed. "So let's _do_ what we're getting evicted for," Bill growled, rubbing up against him in a way that set Tom's libido afire.

Tom pressed Bill against the door until it gave an alarming creak. "No," he decided at last, more for the inconvenience of having to shift positions once they went through the weak material like a battering ram.

"Against the steel supports, again?" Bill said eagerly, running a hand down Tom's sculpted chest and stomach muscles. He toyed with the front of Tom's pants, unsnapping the top button, and paused. His dark eyes lifted coyly to meet Tom's.

"Fuck," Tom breathed, and there was no part of him that wanted any sort of further delay. He wanted to push into Bill, now; wanted Bill spread out and bare before him. He wanted to push into the sweet clench of his body and possess him the way no one else ever would. Never again. "Our bed."

Lust rose off Bill in a heady wave, delicious and dizzying to Tom's senses. He got tangled up in it as easily as though it were tangible. He leaned in and licked Bill's neck, found the place where the pulse sang loudest beneath the skin for him, and bit.

"Ohh," Bill uttered, going tense in his arms. "Tom, I need it. Tomi, _now._ "

Tom nodded heavily, casting about the entryway as though he expected their bed to materialize right there. He was in a hurry, aching so hard he thought his dick might rip through his pants, and Bill was warm and willing and smelled like he wanted it. Tom picked him up bodily and hurried for the bedroom.

"Tom!" Bill squalled, battering against Tom's shoulders with impotent fists. "You jerk! Tomi, put me down! I've got two good legs and I can use them just fine!"

Dumping Bill onto the bed, which was still a heap of unmade sheets and coverlet from that morning, Tom put him down and in doing so, stripped Bill of his pants so quickly it was all one motion. He slid Bill's jeans off down his slender hips, took boxers down along with jeans and the meager excuse for a belt, and wrestled Bill's boots off, letting everything fall where it would before he crawled over the squirming, naked length of Bill.

"I'm going to put something between those two good legs," Tom said hoarsely.

Bill looked up at him, black hair fanned around his face, and his crimson pupils dilated wide. He began to nod, wordless, and reached out for the lube that had settled between two pillows some time that morning. He got it open and began fingering himself as Tom unbelted his jeans and shoved them down with an impatient hand. Tom set his rigid cock against Bill's entrance before he'd finished spreading lube around the little hole.

"I can't wait," Tom explained, knowing there was no need to and yet making that last-ditch effort to assure himself he wasn't hurting his mate.

"Do it," Bill said, blunt. He bit his lip as Tom crouched over him.

Their hands joined as Tom sank himself inside of Bill, pressing into him in a single brilliant slide that shot sparks of pure pleasure up his spine. Bill keened below him, his face tight, but Tom could tell it was out of enjoyment and not pain as Bill's hole dilated around the cock that penetrated him.

"Fuck me, fuck me," Bill chanted, already moving his hips up in encouraging motions.

Tom could only nod, pulling back before he'd even seated it fully. He rolled his hips and gave Bill deep, hard thrusts, slow enough to be sure as he entered him base to tip that he wasn't hurting Bill; that the angle was good.

Bill's fingernails bit into the backs of Tom's hands and they groaned together, striving not merely for climax but satisfaction. This was everything: what they did now, bodies joined and moving. This was Tom's heaven, the embrace of Bill's body, the ultimate expression of their togetherness, and someone had tried to _take_ it from him. Tom sped up, giving Bill choppy pistoning thrusts, and Bill cried out beneath him, lifting his legs to wrap them around Tom and urge him on. They rocked together.

They went faster, until the frantic slap-slap of their bodies drowned out the roar of blood in Tom's ears. He looked down at Bill's flushed, sweat-glinting face and wanted a kiss. They moved slower; Tom pressed deeper as he leaned in.

Bill's lips opened readily to him and tongues worked between them.

"Tom," Bill groaned, and it was _I love you_ and _thank you_ and _I'm yours_ _fuck me harder_ all rolled into one.

Tom wallowed in Bill until he thought he'd burst; until his balls ached and they were both panting, covered in sweat, their scent mingling. He pulled out, slicked more lube to cover the angry red of his cock, and made Bill grab the headboard, mounting him from behind so that he could go harder, faster.

"Ah, ahh!" Bill wailed as Tom pounded away, keeping tight hold of Bill's little hips. "Ahh, yes!"

Bent over Bill until his dreadlocks stuck to Bill's damp back, Tom pushed Bill into a steep angle and slammed into him, finding Bill's spot and drilling into it when Bill's happy noises degenerated into fervent obscenities. When Bill stiffened beneath him, seizing up around Tom's cock as though trying to choke the come right out of it, Tom pulled Bill up off the headboard and against his own body.

He pressed his hands flat against Bill's hips and pumped him full of cock, biting down on the blooming mark he'd started not long before. He came, nuzzling at Bill's neck and holding their bodies close together.

"Ohh," Bill moaned, and wriggled happily in his embrace. "Oh, ohh."

They collapsed onto the bed together.

Tom stayed inside of him, vaguely disappointed that he'd been in such a hurry he hadn't drawn back to watch his hard, wet erection going in and out of Bill. It was one of his favorite sights, aside from Bill's face and his pretty, aroused red dick and any other given part of Bill's body. If they waited long enough, he'd stir again and they could start up anew, and they could go again so he could watch that.

"Shit," Bill said softly, tugging Tom's arm over him. "Damn, fuck, sonuvabitch."

"What?" Tom asked, lazy and contented, pushing against Bill a bit where he was still buried in him.

Bill made a little noise, not discontented by any means, and pushed back against him. "Now we're not only out a gig for tonight, but we _still_ have to pack up our things and get out of here by tomorrow."

"Hunh," Tom uttered, smothering a smirk against his twin's nape.

"That was a devious 'hunh,'" Bull noted at once. He twisted a bit, making Tom hiss as pressure was exerted on his sensitive, spent dick, and tipped his head enough to look at Tom. "What did that mean?"

"I've got a plan," Tom replied, confident of it in a way he hadn't been since arriving in the human world, where the rules had seemed to be so different from the Nephilim world in which he'd been raised.

"Oh?" Bill said, dubious. "And does this plan include securing housing?"

"It does," Tom returned. He set a kiss behind Bill's ear, flicking his tongue out to sample the sweaty skin. Bill tasted of fresh arousal and satisfaction, and Tom wanted to roll him over and do it again, nice and slow this time around. Even though he wasn't ready yet, he pushed against Bill again.

Bill grunted and set his hand over Tom's where it gripped the triple-starred hip. "Not yet, Tomi," he said, almost apologetic.

"I know," Tom said, and kissed his neck again. "We'll get our place to live, but we'll need that Mr. Cooper to give us a few days' extension. I'll ask him--"

"No, _I'll_ ask him," Bill interrupted, baleful. "The way you'd ask, you'd give him a heart attack, and I hardly need any more human deaths on my conscience."

"Bill," Tom murmured, flexing his fingers on Bill's hip. "It's nothing to be worried over--" Tom began.

Bill shook his head, but seemed to curl tighter back into Tom's full-body embrace. "It's not nothing!" he snapped, tone at odds with his yielding posture. "I killed someone, and he was a mental mute, so the psychic trace will lead right back to me..."

Tom stroked over Bill's side, soothing. "Is that what you're worried about?" he asked, relieved. 

"Among other things," Bill grumbled in a sulky tone.

"Stop worrying," Tom assured him, petting Bill's smooth skin with a firmer touch. "I wiped our imprints from the scene."

"But that would still have your psychic trace..." Bill began.

"I tied it back to Anders," Tom informed him, smug. This time when Bill wriggled against him, Tom pushed back, a low grunt leaving him as his cock gave notice that he could go again, soon.

"Oh?" Bill said in surprise, and exhaled on a pleasured note, pressing back and tightening his muscle around Tom. "That's...ahh...sheer genius."

"I did modify it based on your idea," Tom admitted generously. He skimmed a hand below Bill's belly to grasp and reacquire his twin's most intimate focus.

"Mmm...but how are we...nn...going to get a new place on short order?" Bill wanted to know, beginning to shift back against him in rhythmic beats, shifting his thighs to spread himself wider. "And how are you going to silence Anders? _Without_ killing him."

Tom inhaled sharply and nosed at Bill's nape, placing a smattering of kisses there before nipping at the skin again. He groaned and drove into Bill harder as his cock filled. "Don't worry," Tom assured him. "I've got a plan."

Bill hummed happily in response, and so Tom set about proving bodily just how much he appreciated their joining. Plans could wait until after loving.

Tom had nearly lost his Bill, and he was going to spend as much time as he needed to reassert their bond.


	10. Chapter Ten

The hour was approaching midnight, and Bill was out past the usual time he'd be out on a dark city street for any reason but Tom had managed to convince him it would be worth their time. After joining and joining again, basking in post-coital bliss and dragging themselves out of bed in search of food, Tom had revealed his overall plan to Bill. Skeptical but nonetheless willing to back his twin up, Bill was going along with it, and now they walked toward a large, empty warehouse where Tom had instructed Bushido's defeated bodyguards to bring every person who'd worked under him together in one place or risk missing out on new business opportunities. The warehouse was dark from the outside as they approached, circling a lot jammed with cars.

"An unused warehouse, Tom? Really?" Bill's voice carried as a low mutter. "Couldn't you have organized something that wasn't part of the list of syndicated crime show clichés?"

Tom chuckled, squeezed his hand, and let go. "Looks like most of his people should be there. I'm going in through the front," he said, leaning in to kiss Bill's jaw. "You go in from the side and cover me, all right?"

"With what, my acid wit?" Bill commented, raising a dark brow. "I assume they'll all be fully armed."

"You're stronger and faster than everyone in there," Tom said. He cocked his head. "Except perhaps for me. We've never tussled, so..."

"We should try that some time," Bill purred, sidling up to him.

Tom leaned in, grinning, before squeezing Bill's shoulder and setting him at arm's length. "Come on, this first impression is an important one. I'm making my mark, here. Just make sure that you take them down; I don't care if you kill them or not--"

"I do," Bill interrupted, sharp. It still rankled with him that he'd killed a human, whether the man doing it had harassed him or not. Still, that had led to their current situation, which promised to solve many problems in one go. He supposed he couldn't complain _too_ much.

Tom shrugged. "Fine. Wouldn't do to kill all the staff on the first night of employment. Though if a few examples need to be made, I'll make them."

"Go," Bill said, stretching forth to nip Tom's lip. He gave him a heavy look from beneath his lashes, and darted swiftly out of range when Tom's breathing roughened and he made a grab for Bill. "We've got work to do, yeah?"

Tom nodded, squaring his shoulders. He turned and strode for the front entrance of the warehouse, which was illuminated by a single, naked bulb.

Bill watched for a moment before hurrying off to the side of the building. There was another door there, a simple wooden door with a metal knob. It was bolted shut. Bill wrenched it open, leaving the door frame splintered behind him. He slipped into the dark building, his eyes adjusting almost instantly to the near-total darkness. A long hallway was before him, littered with trash and broken glass, the walls lined with graffiti. Bill crept along it on soundless feet, picking his way past debris and making little faces as he went. For Tomi, he reminded himself; and for the new housing Tom had promised them.

At the end of the hallway was a sharp left that opened onto a square of light, and another door straight ahead that had a cloudy, dark window. Bill took the left turn, prowling forward and flattening himself into available shadows once he realized he'd stumbled on the massive warehouse proper, rather than the ruins of the administrative quarters he'd passed through.

There were support pillars around the circumference of a huge, empty space. The warehouse was lined with blacked-out windows. Light came from fluorescent strips high overhead, hung from cobwebbed rafters that probably hadn't been cleaned in decades. The warehouse was an expanse of unused concrete, littered with more trash and a few collapsed cardboard boxes here and there.

Bill stowed himself behind a support pillar and scanned over the motley assemblage of people. The crowd was made up mostly of men, a great deal of them wearing suits, though there were people in more casual clothing. One tall, olive-complected man seemed to stand out from the rest. His head was shaved and when he turned to look around the warehouse, his eyes glinted in a way that made Bill suspect the man of Nephilim blood.

At the periphery of the room, still beneath the overhang of lower ceiling before the building opened onto wider space, Bill could see Tom quite clearly, standing with his arms folded. He was also surveying the crowd of Bushido's assembled cronies and underlings.

It was clear from the lack of the crowd's reaction that no one else had seen him.

Tom stepped forward into the range of the fluorescent lights, arms uncrossing, hands forming loose fists at his sides. A murmur started up in the crowd, restless with undertones of anger. 

Bill caught fragments here and there, "...this kid?" "No way." "Not following some teen thug that got lucky." "Impossible."

Tom grinned, the expression fierce and sharp on his handsome face, and spoke up. "You all know why we're here tonight. I'm taking over your local crime scene. Everything that was Bushido's is now mine."

The tall, olive-complected man rolled his shoulders, pushing his way through the front of the crowd to stand closer to Tom. "Ain't no way we're letting some punk kid like you take over for my brother Bushido."

Bill tensed as the man drew a gun.

Quicker than thought, Tom lashed out and seized the man's wrist, pushing his arm to one side and angling his point of aim somewhere over Tom's shoulder and holding, simply holding him in place.

The man grunted, his skin going darker. His chest swelled and he appeared to be straining against Tom's grip. Tom looked over at him, expression unchanged; bored, even. The man flexed, roared, and brought up his other hand, forming a fist to strike out at Tom. Tom's other hand flashed up and he seized that wrist, too, clamping the man in a steely grip.

Even from Bill's distant vantage, he heard the snap of wrist bones breaking. The man screamed and went to his knees and Tom sidestepped him, brushing his hands off as though the man had left filth on his skin.

"Chakuza," someone murmured, sounding terrified.

"Was that your strongest?" Tom inquired, beginning to circle the group. He spread his hands. "Come on! Anyone else?" He sounded annoyed, as though the best that Bushido's men could throw at him were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Bill grinned. In his – admittedly biased – opinion, Tom was making a good strong first impression.

"All right, if killing Bushido wasn't enough to get your attention, hopefully I've got it now," Tom continued. "I'm in charge now. All of his assets, property, interests in the local crime scene, everything. It's all mine. Are we clear?"

The restless murmur started up again. It was a great deal more subdued than the first angry mutters of protest. Someone closer to Bill nudged his neighbor and whispered, "If we all pulled our guns, we might be able to take him out."

"Are you kidding?" his neighbor whispered back. "That kid's got demon blood, did you _see_ how fast he took out Chakuza? Like he was nothin'! I'm going along with the inevitable; he's boss now."

"Pussy," the first declared, and put a hand in his suit jacket.

Bill sighed through his nose and began to prowl forward, leaving the hiding place behind his support pillar. Tom was going on about an easy transition of authority and wanting to leave power structures in place unless they challenged him, and Bill felt comfortable ignoring that in favor of concentrating on the potential threat.

He hung back, out of sight of the group. Each one had their attention fixed on Tom as he laid out his plans for takeover. It sounded boring to Bill; more like administrative work than anything exciting. He'd stick to singing, killer outfits, and getting laid – not necessarily in that order.

When the man he'd marked had sidled his way to the fringe of the crowd, Bill was poised to strike.

The man was short, nondescript. He wore a cheap suit and he was balding, and he oozed sweat that stank of fear and anger. He pulled his hand out of his suit jacket and clutched a gun, leveling it at Tom.

"I ain't gonna stand for this bullshit, and neither should any of you!" the man shouted. "Hey, everyone--" 

Bill swooped in on him, striking before the man could try to rally his companions. What he didn't realize, and surely wouldn't appreciate later, was that if he somehow coaxed a mass armed revolt, the influx of gun charges would be more annoying to deal with than anything. He and Tom would get rushed, might end up killing a good deal of them, and then Tom would be deprived of half his new "workforce" or more. As for Bill, he'd be pissed if he had to kill someone.

Or broke a nail.

Plucking the gun from the man's hand, Bill elbowed the man, who toppled to the grimy concrete with a surprised cry of pain. Bill gathered in the shocked gazes of all the nearby gangsters, raised the gun in his hand, and crushed it in a slow, deliberate motion.

"If anyone tries to kill Tom," he stated flatly, "I'll end them faster than Bushido." He left out the fact that _he_ had killed Bushido. As he and Tom had already agreed, it would be more advantageous for the dead crime lord's people to think Tom had done it. Bill didn't want to get saddled with all of the burdensome considerations involved in running a local crime syndicate.

Tom seemed positively enervated over the prospect, like it was some project he'd picked up.

Bill dropped his handful of lumped-together metal parts on the man who'd tried to kill Tom, who uttered another pitiful cry that sounded like 'ouch.'

"That seems clear enough," Tom stated loudly. The crowd shifted their attention reluctantly from Bill to Tom.

Whispers were circulating again. "--the one Bushido was after." "Fuck, he _is_ hot." "...the singer Bushido wanted?" "...if he knew the kid was a fucking demon blood, why'd he even..." "...had to be crazy to try for _him_."

Tom's voice lashed out. "As I was saying," he began.

The assembled people fell silent again, and Bill folded his arms as several of them shot nervous looks his way.

"I expect your operations to continue as they have, while I begin my assessment of my new territory," Tom continued.

Someone raised a hand, making Bill smirk. It was echoed on Tom's face.

"Yes?" Tom prompted.

"What about him?" the brave soul ventured, a reedy, slight man in a nice suit. He pointed a shaking finger at Bill. "You're the boss, but you said you're leaving our power structure in place. Where does that put him?"

Bill smiled at the crowd sweetly as several curious gazes turned his way. He buffed his black nails against his leather jacket. A glance from beneath lowered eyelashes revealed that more than a few were looking covetous, hungry. Bill couldn't help but preen.

"You'd better hope that Bill doesn't feel like playing," Tom stated. "He's mine, and what's mine is his, so I'd suggest doing whatever he wants if it comes up."

No one seemed particularly reassured by that.

Bill stood at casual alert to one side as Tom went through the rest of his speech, two parts intimidation and one part reassurance that not much would change so long as everyone heeded the intimidation. At last he dismissed them, leaving Bill to wonder if a takeover really was so easy as all that.

"You, Chakuza," Tom called out, as the crowd began to disperse. "You were Bushido's second in command, I take it?"

The man glowered at Tom, his jaw tight, and didn't reply. He gave a nod that was more jerk of the head than anything.

"You stay after," Tom decided. He scanned over the crowd. "Who did Bushido's books?"

The reedy man in the nice suit lifted his hand tentatively.

"You stay, too," Tom said. "We need to have a few words."

Bill strolled over to Tom with his hands clasped behind his back. As he neared his twin, Tom hooked him in close with one arm, inhaled near Bill's ear, but didn't make any other, more obvious gestures of affection.

Chakuza approached, sullen, along with the reedy accountant as the rest of the men and women streamed toward the door with relieved noises. Bill's ears pricked when he heard one of them mutter, "this isn't right."

"You know why I did it, right?" Tom addressed Chakuza directly. His arm tightened around Bill's waist.

Chakuza's nostrils flared and his neck tendons stood out. He held Tom's gaze for a long moment before lowering his head.

"Yeah," he said at last. "Bushido tried to take what was yours."

"He tried," Tom agreed. "He also tried for my life. He failed. He's gone, and I'm still here. Can you live with that, or am I going to have to kill you, too?"

Chakuza kept his head down, appearing to think it over seriously. His jaw flexed a couple of times. "I can live with that," he said at last, raising his hand to look Tom in the eye. He admitted frankly, "You're stronger than me."

"So long as you realize," Tom said, holding his gaze.

Bill frowned over at the man who had been Bushido's second in command, and was now pledging allegiance to his Tom. "Why did Bushido send so many men after me when they kept dying?" he wanted to know. "He had to have realized..."

"What do you mean, so many?" Chakuza interrupted. "There were three attempts, and the last was successful because _I_ handled it."

Tom's arm tightened around Bill again, making him clamp down on his lip to prevent an undignified squeak from leaving him.

"There were five," Bill contradicted.

"Three," Chakuza insisted. "Only three."

"No," Bill denied, though he was becoming uncertain, sensing that Chakuza wasn't lying, or was at least convinced of his own truth. "Tom and I killed five men, before that final, successful attempt."

Chakuza's brows rose and he looked from Tom to Bill. "We didn't send five," he said. "We sent three. First a strong-arm, and when he turned up dead, we sent the scout and hitman pair. The hitman was supposed to be back-up only, because the scout was equipped with certain tools..."

"That silver web?" Bill said scornfully, though it had given him a moment's trouble. He was still somewhat ashamed about that, and willing to concede at last that Tom was correct on the subject of needing some practical training.

"Anyhow, we only sent the three," Chakuza concluded. "There's no waste in our operation. I wouldn't throw more men away..."

"I'd wondered," Tom interrupted. "And there's no way Bushido could have somehow sent others without your knowledge?"

"No," Chakuza said flatly. "I was the coordinator, the final word on all muscle ops. I shoulda been there when..." He trailed off and looked stormy.

"When he died?" Bill finished. "Better to die honorably in battle for you, maybe?"

"Any time you want to go..." Tom began.

Chakuza shook his head and fixed Bill with an angry look. "If Bushido had _known_ you were his--" he began, indicating Tom with his eyes.

Bill scoffed. "He still would have tried for me," he replied. "I made it clear several times I wasn't interested. Everyone _knew_ Tom and I were together. He chose not to believe it."

Chakuza's eyes flicked away, though he still looked defiant. "Maybe so."

"I've heard enough," Tom said, gripping Bill possessively close. "Next, I want a car. I'll take yours for now - the accountant can give you a ride until we make more suitable arrangements."

Chakuza looked murderous now.

"Is there a problem?" Tom wanted to know, raising a brow.

The man ground his teeth, jaw flexing again. "No problem," he answered at last.

"No problem, what?" Tom prompted with a frown.

Chakuza's brow creased. After a brief pause, he tried again, "No problem...sir?"

"I'm used to 'milord,' but it'll do," Tom said, serious. "Now, as for the matter of accommodations. Bill and I need a place. I want a house."

Chakuza folded his arms and looked away. The reedy accountant met Tom's eyes and glanced down.

"What's your name?" Tom addressed the man.

"Martin," the accountant mumbled.

"Are you afraid of us, Martin?" Tom asked, sounding calm, almost gentle.

It was an unnecessary question. Bill could smell the fear oozing from the man's pores, and the way he wouldn't meet either of their eyes for more than a few seconds was another good clue.

"Um, yes," Martin said, appearing flustered. Red patches appeared on his cheeks.

"Good," Tom replied. "As long as that fear keeps you honest, we won't have problems. Now. What kind of property did Bushido own?"

"Uh, a great deal," Martin replied, eyes darting up and down again. "Warehouses, used and unused, a couple of clubs, office space, two apartment complexes, four condos--"

"Houses, what about houses," Bill interrupted impatiently.

"Oh," Martin said with a start, avoiding Bill's eyes. "Yes, he had three."

"Any new, unused?" Bill asked, not holding out much hope. 

"Yes, one just completed construction," Martin replied.

"Perfect," Tom replied. "We'll take it."

Bill beamed. He was excited at last. This meant he got to redecorate, and with all the assets Tom had seized, they'd have the money to make it happen.

"And one more thing," Tom added, looking back and forth between the men, one cowed, one defiant – but cooperative for now. "Bushido was in the club scene; he promised us music advancement opportunities. Find someone to make it happen. We need a manager."

Bill grinned. One by one, their problems were melting away.

"Everything's falling into place," Bill commented, after Chakuza had given up his car wand to Tom and gone off with a harried-looking Martin. The accountant had agreed to have someone contact them the next day with arrangements for both the house and a music manager.

"Not quite," Tom disagreed, and kept his arm around Bill as they left the now empty warehouse. "That was too easy."

"They're still in shock," Bill commented. "Of course they're going to fall into place, for now. They've probably started plotting against you from the moment they left the building."

"I'm sure," Tom said, sounding unsurprised. "I can deal with that. What truly concerns me is that someone besides Bushido has been, and must be, still after you. At least now I have a power base and more resources to figure out who, why, and how to take them out."

Bill wasn't overly concerned. He had his Tom, his music, and Bushido's obsession with him had turned up unexpected benefits for both Tom and Bill. They'd take the rest as it came, and prevail together.

* * *

Several floors deep in a subterranean facility, Kellan Raye moved through steel corridors lined with wall displays configured to simulate an outside view. She strode quickly, taking turns by memory through the mazelike junctures until she came at last to a stop beside an oblong white door. A nameplate beside it proclaimed "Alicia Carson." Kellan hit the toggle beside the door that would inform the occupant within that someone was requesting entry.

The door slid open. Kellan proceeded into the office, pausing to adjust to the relative dimness compared to the daylight-bright corridors.

"Kellan," the mellow voice of Ms. Carson, Orion's tactical head of operations, greeted her. "We're busy compiling the data you collected, as well as the rest of the police files on the recent events. I'm interested to hear your first-hand account."

A chair swiveled around and Alicia Carson fixed Kellan with her cool blue gaze. Her appearance was neat and professional as usual, her golden hair twisted up in a precise coif and her simple navy suit pressed and immaculate. She had the pallor of someone who habitually worked indoors, but Kellan knew from years of association that Ms. Carson had grown up out-Wall, and was one of the tactical minds in Orion that had kept New York City safe for years.

With a nod, Kellan took the indicated seat. "As expected, the scene had been swept of psychic imprints, although the trace for the work led back to someone who'd fled the scene, rather than the deceased, as had been the case with prior incidents."

Ms. Carson steepled her fingers and leaned forward. "And why was that?" she prompted, looking expectant.

"The deceased had no Nephilim blood or psychic potential," Kellan replied.

"Interesting deviation," Ms. Carson said, seeming satisfied.

Kellan nodded. "Though psychic trace was gone, physical trace remained. As Cal's report indicated, there were scent markers - and two were related. I'd say brothers." She hesitated.

"You already know the results of the query that Arashi retrieved this morning," Ms. Carson said, waving a hand. "The identities of all Nephilim-blood in a ten block radius from the crime scenes. Narrowing down that list to only those male, and related, left..."

"Twins," Kellan finished. "Two of the scent markers were so similar, barely distinguishable but for personal cosmetic odors. I'd say they're twins."

Ms. Carson nodded and set her chin on her hands. "I looked at the picture on file for Bill Kaulitz, registered at birth as Bill Trumper," she said. "He recently changed his name to Kaulitz - right around the time Tom Kaulitz registered himself as a New York visitor, half-Nephilim, no intent to harm. 'Looking for his twin' was the reason he gave for entry."

Kellan made an inquiring noise in her throat.

"Anything we've got is circumstantial," Ms. Carson continued. "Since one of them oh-so-cleverly figured how to wipe a scene and switch the trace to someone else's psychic signature. Tell me, Kellan, what's your gut feeling for what went down?"

Kellan had been mulling it over since Ms. Carson had first given her the tidbits of information on the case, but visiting the most recent scene confirmed it. "Ferchichi was fixated on one of them," she replied. "Probably Bill, even though Tom looks like he'd have fit better into Ferchichi's crowd."

"Yes, there's something alluring about Bill," Ms. Carson agreed. "What else?"

"The scenes all read as self defense," Kellan continued. "So either they've learned to manipulate that kind of psychic imprint, too - which everyone says is patently impossible - or they really did confine themselves to striking only when struck first."

Ms. Carson nodded again. "My thoughts, as well. Yet the danger is that they _have_ begun killing." She sighed. "They're very young."

Kellan's brows rose. "Seventeen," she said.

Ms. Carson looked at her. "Tom was raised out-Wall," she reminded her. "For all intents and purposes, he's Nephilim, and should be treated as such - with utmost caution. He'll abide by human law insofar as he can avoid getting caught."

"What now?" Kellan wanted to know.

Ms. Carson passed a hand over her desk, bringing a display to life. "Now we open a file on the Kaulitz twins, and hope it's not too late to keep them on humanity's side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started outlining the sequel to "Born to Each Other" last July, I knew there was too much to fit into a single sequel story. Mostly because the twins keep derailing me and having so much sex. >_> So we'll deal with the additional loose ends this story has left in a third installment. And more parental interaction comes into play. ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading. :) Your comment is my coin.


End file.
